MANLY MEN
an Evening Chockfull
of Lies and Testosterone
by
Bo Wilson
revision 8/04
Property of Bo Wilson
4319 Burgess House Lane
Richmond, VA 23236-4705
(804)745-7455
e-mail: bo@bowilson.net
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev-UrbanStgs
Before we begin....
The piece you now hold is a comic revue of twelve scenes, the connective tissue of which
is a quest for knowledge by a man named Harold. Harold is in his thirties, and is neither
handsome nor ugly; neither brilliant nor stupid. What is he? He's desperately, desperately
confused. At sea. Lost.…
These scenes should take no longer than a total of one hour fifty minutes, and have been
written to be performable in a variety of spaces, from traditional proscenium theaters to
small cabarets and comedy clubs. To that end, the setting is extremely simple. The stage
is bare, and the varied environments of the play are suggested primarily through the
actors' behavior and a very few hand props and basic pieces. Indeed, it is quite possible to
perform the piece with little more than those hand props, one table and three sturdy
chairs. In addition to Harold, we have The Woman, a sole actress who plays a variety of
roles, and The Man, an actor who shall also play multiple roles. This multiple role
playing is not only efficient, it has what I hope to be a certain thematic resonance... not to
mention its basic theatrical fun. As with the settings, these roles are intended to be
identified primarily through behavior rather than through elaborate costuming requiring
an army of quick-change artists; representative pieces should work quite nicely.
Enjoy!
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev-UrbanStgs
THE PEOPLE:
Harold
The Woman
The Man
THE PLACE:
Various parts of Town all of which are just a short walk from your neighborhood...
THE TIME:
Your whole damned life.
THE SCENES:
The Failure
The Buddy
The Therapist
The Happy Couple
The Chainsmoker
The Rehearsal
The Intermission
The Mechanic
The Man in Love
The Fear
The Mystic
The Pick-Up
The Success
MANLY MEN was first presented by The Production Company, at the Shafer Street
Playhouse in Richmond, Virginia on August 3, 1990. It was directed by Gary C. Hopper;
the scenery was by Bill Jenkins; the costumes were by Jennifer R. Dozier; the lighting
was by Chad Bush; the producer was Bev Appleton; the production stage manager was
Keri Wormald. The cast, in order of appearance, was as follows:
HAROLD
THE WOMAN
THE MAN
David Bridgewater
Pamela Good
Daniel Ruth
MANLY MEN was the winner of the 1990 New Plays in Progress Playwrights
Competition, sponsored by The Production Company and The Virginia Commission for
the Arts.
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Manly Men rev 8/04 by Bo Wilson
THE FAILURE
(LIGHTS UP to dim to find HAROLD
and THE WOMAN sitting up in a large bed.
There is distance between them.
Each stares straight out into the darkness. The do
not look at each other until so indicated.
Count ten. Then:)
HAROLD
Look.
I wish that—
I dunno, I wish that I knew what to say,
I wish I knew what it was that I was supposed to—
(THE WOMAN raises a hand between his voice
and her ear; he stops speaking.
Count two.)
THE WOMAN
Please.
(She lowers her hand slowly, as if ready to raise it
again at the slightest provocation. Count two.
Then:)
You
don't know anything about women.
Do you.
HAROLD
I don't think anybody
knows anything about women.
(This succeeds in drawing her direct stare, as her
head swivels cleanly atop her neck; you can almost
hear it click into position as her eyes land full upon
him.
He cannot meet her gaze.
Count five. BLACKOUT.)
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THE BUDDY
(LIGHTS UP on HAROLD and THE BUDDY,
who is played by THE MAN.
It's late. Both have been drinking, and both have
half-finished glasses or bottles before them.
HAROLD stares into his, looking for answers, as
THE BUDDY stares at HAROLD.
Count three. Then:)
BUDDY
You're not trying. Come on. Try.
(HAROLD shakes his head, slow, mourning.)
Come on.
HAROLD
Nope.
BUDDY
You can't even think of one, not any?
HAROLD
Nope.
BUDDY
Nobody?!?
HAROLD
No
body.
BUDDY
Hm. I see.
(Beat.)
Well. It's not the end of the world. Right?
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HAROLD
The world
is dead. It is dead and it is rotting in the sun and you can smell it from Mars!
BUDDY
I'm telling you, we can fix this, there's nothing here that we-HAROLD
Do you know how long it's been? Do you have any idea?
Five
and a half
years.
BUDDY
You haven't had sex in five and half years?
HAROLD
I didn't say that!
I never said sex. Relationship.
Ships.
No real, honest-to-god authentic relationship
in five a half years.
Wanted one! But noooo luck.
BUDDY
You're in a slump, that's all.
HAROLD
A slump?
BUDDY
It'll be okay, man, it'll get better!
I mean, this has to be bottom, right?
It has to get better.
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HAROLD
Yeah, but what if it doesn't?
What if my
slump
goes ten years, then twenty, then fifty then a hundred then what?
BUDDY
Then we do the talk shows.
"Are you or someone you know walking through an emotional wasteland?
If so, call us at 1-800-O-Poor-Me"
(His attempt at cheer is not working.)
Look, it'll be okay, I swear to you.
You just have to keep at it. Hang in there. Earn it.
HAROLD
Earn it?!
BUDDY
Do the right thing.
HAROLD
What's the right thing?
BUDDY
Look, all I'm talking about is a certain kind of behavior.
HAROLD
WHAT KIND OF BEHAVIOR!
(Beat)
Sorry.
I'm a little tense.
BUDDY
Ya think?
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
What
kind
of behavior.
BUDDY
Oh, come on.
There are known things,
that you do.
You know what I mean.
HAROLD
I do not know what you mean!
If there are certain agreed-upon things,
behaviors,
which properly applied leave the recipient somehow obligated,
romantically or otherwise,
then I am not aware of them.
BUDDY
Okay.
HAROLD
So?
BUDDY
What.
HAROLD
TELL ME!
(beat. Harold is perhaps attracting attention from
other, unseen patrons. He lowers his voice.)
Please. What am I supposed to be doing.
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BUDDY
Look, Harold.
I can't, you know—I mean, see,
I can't just sit and spout out all this instant stuff, you know?
It's not any one single, you know—
it's not algebra, you understand?
HAROLD
No, no, no, no, no, a second ago,
you're telling me that there are all these behaviors,
these standard behaviors, these right things,
and now you're saying you can't tell me what they are?
You keep telling me that I should know what you mean
and I am telling you that I do not know what you mean,
I need help!
(Beat)
I go out. On dates.
Concerts. Dinners. Regular stuff.
I try to be nice. To just, you know, be myself, okay?
Have a nice normal evening.
A little pasta, maybe a walk in the park, no pressure, no hidden agenda, no roofies,
nothing, you understand, just a nice, normal first date.
And they always seem to enjoy it! That say they enjoy it,
they thank me, they say "I had a really nice time, Harold," they kiss me goodnight,
nice kisses, okay, not turn-your-cheek grandma kisses, nice, romantic kissing,
perfectly good first dates!
BUDDY
But?
HAROLD
But:
There is never
a second date.
So:
What right thing should I be doing that I've somehow missed?
(Beat)
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BUDDY
What's your personal care? What're your habits?
HAROLD
My personal care habits?
BUDDY
General cleanliness. Hygiene. Grooming.
Hey: Never overlook the obvious.
HAROLD
My hygiene is fine.
BUDDY
Well okay then.
Are you boring?
HAROLD
How the hell do I answer that, I don't think I'm boring, do you think I'm boring?
BUDDY
I don't think you're boring.
(Beat)
But I've been drinking.
HAROLD
Maybe it's a matter of expectations, maybe my standards are too high...
BUDDY
No!
Never say that!
Harold, ol' buddy, a high set of standards are a man's best friend, believe it.
Consistently high and reliable standards
will save you from the shame and embarrassment
which are the inevitable result
of late-night-standards-lowering.
HAROLD
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All I want
is that she be reasonably attractive.
Reasonably intelligent.
Have a reasonably good sense of humor
and a reasonably good opinion of me.
I believe
that my expectations are reasonable.
BUDDY
They are! And—it is, believe me, worth the wait. You do not want to end up
with the wrong woman.
HAROLD
Like this is such an easy thing to spot.
BUDDY
All it takes to find out is to sleep with them. Wait a second!
I said nothing about sex. I said sleep with them.
And then, wake up with them, in the morning. And observe them.
Their powers weaken with the sunrise.
If you can still look her in the eye
and still feel the same way about her that you did the night before, then that, Haroldthat is a serious candidate.
Because, most of em? Yikes.
I met this chick once, we went out one evening, had a great time,
one thing leads to another, we go back to her place, the great time continues
until we're both unconscious…. next morning, I wake up, and I'm thinking
"Who knows? Maybe this is the one" and I sit up, and she's there, her back is to me
and I reach for her and I start to say "I had a really great time"
but she hears my voice and her back goes all stiff, and this voice, I'm not kidding,
like that girl in The Exorcist, and she says "Don't. Touch. Me."
I'm telling you: I ran. I still get scared I might see her somewhere.
(HAROLD gives an obligatory chuckle, but his
heart's not in it. A brief pause, then:)
HAROLD
I'm thinking
that maybe I should see someone.
Someone like
a professional someone.
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BUDDY
Harold, my man—that is an inspired thought. I know a place.
It's a little bit of a drive, but once you see the women there you will know
that it was worth the trip.
HAROLD
What the hell are you talking about?
BUDDY
You said professional...
HAROLD
I—
no, no, not that, geez,
I meant to talk to.
About all of this.
BUDDY
You mean a shrink?
HAROLD
Not a shrink, really, no, just,
I dunno, like a counselor or something...
BUDDY
A goddamned shrink!
HAROLD
Well the whole thing has me a little spooked, all right?
BUDDY
Yeah, but a shrink. Christ.
You might as well go see that crystal ball guy down at the north common,
at least he won't ask you about your mother,
what the hell's a shrink gonna tell you?
HAROLD
I don't know.
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BUDDY
Here. I'll be your shrink. We'll go over your history.
HAROLD
Oh, come on...
BUDDY
No, no, this'll be good. Now.
When was the last serious girlfriend you had,
wasn't it, um...
HAROLD
Coni.
BUDDY
...Coni, right.
Coni with an "i" or a "y" or an "i-e" or
HAROLD
Coni, one "i",
see-oh-enn-eye, Coni.
BUDDY
Well, see. That right there,
that's a bad sign. Those names that end in one "i", Coni. Teri. Bobbi,
they're all indicators of a kind of permanent, incurable sorority-girl quality,
I guarantee you she dotted the "i" with a smiley face
HAROLD
I don't know….
BUDDY
Why'd it end?
HAROLD
Oh, you know.
She wasn't interested
in a long-term commitment
at that time in her life
et cetera, et cetera.
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BUDDY
Got a picture? Refresh my memory?
HAROLD
Umm... yeah...
(He digs out his wallet and opens it; an abnormally
long accordion-style display of photos cascades
down.)
BUDDY
What the fuck is all that?
HAROLD
It's pictures.
BUDDY
You carry that many pictures in your wallet? Lemme see that...
HAROLD
Hey, come on, don't...
BUDDY
They're all women!
HAROLD
I know that, come on, give it back...
BUDDY
These are all women you dated?
HAROLD
You don't have to make a big deal out of it, just gimme the—
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BUDDY
No, no, no, no, no, waitaminute,
this is clinically significant, this requires further analysis……
(HAROLD gives up his retrieval efforts and
waits with long-suffering patience. THE BUDDY
studies the photos slowly.)
BUDDY
Who's this one.
HAROLD
That's Rebecca.
BUDDY
You dated her?
HAROLD
Yes.
BUDDY
Not bad...
What happened?
HAROLD
She was crazy.
BUDDY
Whaddaya mean, crazy.
HAROLD
She was a kind of a nymphomaniac. It was kind of her whole life.
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BUDDY
This woman is a nymphomaniac?
(Beat; BUDDY looks at back of photo.)
This phone number still good?
I'm kidding...
Hm...
Who's this one?
HAROLD
Tracy. With a "Y".
BUDDY
What's her story?
HAROLD
She was crazy.
BUDDY
How was she crazy?
HAROLD
She was a liar.
BUDDY
Whaddaya mean a liar.
HAROLD
I mean she was a liar, she lied about things.
BUDDY
What kind of things?
HAROLD
All kinds of things. Anything, everything.
What she had for breakfast. Where she grew up.
What her favorite color was. How long she'd been in prison—
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BUDDY
Wait, wait, waitasecond,
she was in prison?
HAROLD
She was out when I met her.
BUDDY
Man...
(Beat; he finds another.)
This one?
HAROLD
Linda.
BUDDY
Yeah?
HAROLD
She was crazy, too.
BUDDY
Gonna start calling you "Bellevue."
HAROLD
She had all these phobias.
BUDDY
Like…?
HAROLD
You name it. Fear of heights. Fear of cats. Fear of lightning. Fear of Q-tips.
Fear of everything. Including, I guess, me.
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BUDDY
Ahhh….
(Beat)
This one?
HAROLD
Eee, uggh, Fern, god.
She wanted to get married.
BUDDY
So what's crazy about that?
HAROLD
She didn't care who to, right?
The marriage was the thing. She had it all planned out:
What church, what gown, what rings, what china, what silver,
She carried catalogues okay? She was crazy.
BUDDY
What about this one, was she crazy?
HAROLD
Carol.
(Beat)
No.
She wasn't crazy.
BUDDY
So what went wrong?
HAROLD
I don't know.
BUDDY
Ah.
(Beat)
So. Lemme see if I got this:
You carry these pictures. These pictures of women from your past. Women
with whom you are no longer involved, correct?
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HAROLD
That's right.
BUDDY
Every one of them
either a crazy person
or someone who dumped you, am I right so far?
HAROLD
Yeah.
BUDDY
So why you still carrying them around?
(Beat. HAROLD is startled to realize that he has
never considered this perfectly reasonable
question.)
HAROLD
I don't know….
(THE BUDDY begins removing the pictures from
the plastic sleeves.)
BUDDY
Harold, my friend—
today is the first day of the rest of your life.
HAROLD
Hold it, what are you doing?
BUDDY
The past is the past, Harold.
A man has enough burdens right here and right now
without hauling around the dead weight of the past.
(THE BUDDY is now placing the pictures in a
small ashtray; HAROLD reaches to try and stop
him.)
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HAROLD
Come on, what are you doing with—
(THE BUDDY stops him.)
BUDDY
These things are evil!
(Beat)
They are a sinister and seductive trap and it is my job, as your best friend
to set you free.
(THE BUDDY produces a lighter; he dips his
fingers in his drink and sprinkles the
liquid, flicking drops of benediction.)
In the name of the Father, and the Son,
and the brothers and the uncles and all persons lost yet proudly male:
We renounce you.
(He flicks the lighter.)
HAROLD
Don't!
(Beat. HAROLD extends his hand.)
I'll do it.
(Beat; THE BUDDY again wets his finger and
anoints HAROLD'S forehead.)
BUDDY
Bless you, my son.
(He solemnly extends the lighter which HAROLD
accepts; he spins the wheel, contemplates the flame
and then slowly reaches to touch it to the pictures,
which flicker in small flame.
THE BUDDY lifts his drink.)
To the future!
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HAROLD
To the future.
(They touch glasses and drink.)
BUDDY
Good.
Hold that thought...
(and he weaves away, exiting ostensibly for the
Men's Room. HAROLD stares forlornly into the
sputtering flames and then slowly pours his drink
over them. The flame fizzles INTO BLACK.)
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THE THERAPIST
(We are in a Therapist's office, the THERAPIST
to be played by THE WOMAN. Two chairs;
perhaps a floor lamp.
LIGHTS UP to discover HAROLD and THE
THERAPIST sitting, opposite each other; each
waits patiently.
Count five in silence then:)
HAROLD
So.
THERAPIST
So.
HAROLD
Is, uh, is this
how it goes?
THERAPIST
What's that.
HAROLD
I don't know, therapy. Therapy sessions.
Is this how they go?
THERAPIST
Ah, I see. Well. This is generally how they go at the start.
HAROLD
Oh.
(Beat)
There's not, uh,
a couch, or anything? For me to lie down?
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THERAPIST
No, I'm sorry.
Would you be more comfortable lying down?
HAROLD
Oh, no, it was just,
you know, the, um, I guess the
image, you know.
(Beat)
Um...
THERAPIST
Yes?
HAROLD
Well, would it matter, whether I'd be more comfortable?
I mean, since it's not an option, why did you...
THERAPIST
Oh, well, I could make arrangements. For your next visit.
HAROLD
Ah.
(Beat)
So you're pretty sure
that I'll be needing a next visit? I mean
we've only been at this for a couple of minutes
and you're thinking about a next visit?
THERAPIST
Oh, no. Not necessarily.
HAROLD
By the way, have I been paying for this,
this discussion of seating options, is this part of my time?
THERAPIST
Yes.
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HAROLD
Uh-huh. You guys have it all worked out. It's a system.
(Beat)
That was meant to be, you know, light humor. Satire?
I don't want you to think that I walk around with all these anti-establishment paranoid
fantasies.
But I'm not pro-establishment either.
Necessarily.
(Beat)
I'm sorry.
THERAPIST
For what?
HAROLD
I'm, uh, very nervous.
I'm nervous I'm gonna say the wrong thing.
Although you'll probably tell me that there are no rights or wrongs, right?
THERAPIST
Something like that, yes.
HAROLD
Uh-huh.
Still, at one end of the spectrum
you have your slightly confused, uh, subjects,
and then at the other end you have chainsaw psycho Amway reps. I just want to make
sure that I get placed with my peers.
So to speak.
THERAPIST
Why don't you tell me why you came to see me today?
HAROLD
Why I came to see you?
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THERAPIST
Yes.
You called. You made an appointment. You showed up.
So— let's talk about why you did that.
(HAROLD nods; he leans in closer, preparing. But this
is not close enough, and so scoots his chair closer;
considers, and then scoots closer still. At last:)
HAROLD
I don't have a girlfriend.
(Pause.
THE THERAPIST very carefully leans back and
folds her hands patiently.)
THERAPIST
Harold.
I want to make sure that something is very clear.
HAROLD
Sure.
THERAPIST
I want to make sure that you're clear
about the limitations of the subject-counselor relationship.
Those limits are for the good of everyone involved, do you understand that?
HAROLD
Well, yeah.
Oh god. God!
(He scoots back a bit.)
Geez, yes, of course I understand that,
you think that I—
THERAPIST
I just wanted to make sure that that was clear.
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HAROLD
Geez, you really think I would actually come in here just to, wow, wow...
THERAPIST
Harold!
(He holds in his anxiety.)
I didn't think anything.
But: Don't you think, if you were in my place, that you'd make sure that this sort of thing
were clear right from the start?
(Beat; he calms.)
HAROLD
I didn't mean to fly off the handle there.
THERAPIST
That's perfectly all right.
HAROLD
You're just covering a bad possibility early. Nipping bad potential in the bud.
THERAPIST
Exactly.
HAROLD
You don't know me, you don't know
who I am or what my expectations might be.
THERAPIST
That's it precisely.
HAROLD
Still—it was like this, I dunno,
this distaste had come upon you.
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THERAPIST
Not at all.
HAROLD
No, and that's what I sense happening a lot, lately, in my personal life, and so,
I mean, you had no way of knowing, but
it was exactly the sort of reaction that I was liable to take personally.
For a moment.
I'm okay now.
THERAPIST
That's good.
HAROLD
Yeah. So. Anyway.
THERAPIST
You don't have a girlfriend.
HAROLD
That's right.
(Beat)
This is, um, hard. To talk about.
THERAPIST
Why?
HAROLD
Well...
THERAPIST
Does it bother you that I'm a woman?
HAROLD
Well. "Bothers," no,
not "bothers" exactly,
yeah, okay, bothers. Yeah.
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THERAPIST
Why is that.
HAROLD
Well because.
I mean, that's part of my whole thing—
I have trouble with Your People.
(Beat)
Of course, maybe this could be an advantage.
Kind of an insider's point-of-view kind of thing...
THERAPIST
Do you feel like an outsider?
HAROLD
Aw, geez, I hoped it wouldn't be like this...
THERAPIST
You hoped what wouldn't be like what?
HAROLD
This, this whole thing, I had an idea
that it would be someone asking me a bunch of questions
about everything, answering my questions
with more questions...
THERAPIST
Well. I have to ask questions, Harold,
to find out things. About you. About what's happening.
Part of this process will perhaps be about teaching you
to ask yourself these same sorts of questions.
HAROLD
Yeah.
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THERAPIST
Do questions bother you?
HAROLD
I've already got plenty of questions, it's answers I'm a little short on.
THERAPIST
You're hoping that I can provide you with answers.
HAROLD
Well I was,
up until a few minutes ago.
THERAPIST
Are you angry with me?
HAROLD
No. Angry? No. That's silly. Why would I be angry with you?
THERAPIST
I don't know.
HAROLD
I thinkI think that I'm scared. I think that I'm scared
and maybe a little defensive.
THERAPIST
Very good.
Do you have any idea why you might be feeling that way?
HAROLD
Well, sure—the same reason you get scared
at any doctor's office.
THERAPIST
Because you're afraid the doctor might find something wrong?
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HAROLD
Not just that. You're afraid that the doctor
might find something he can't fix.
I'm afraid that you might find out I'm emotionally terminal. I'm afraid that I'm gonna end
up coming here ten, twelve times
and answering all of your questions only to have you tell me that I've got some kind of
cancer of the personality,
that I'm inoperable.
THERAPIST
I don't think you have to worry about that.
HAROLD
Yeah, well, you say that now,
you know how long it's been since I had a serious,
multiple exposure both-people-wanting-to-see-each-other-again-more-than-once
kind of a relationship with a woman?
Five and a half years.
That's, what, geez, that's sixty-six months
of first and only encounters,
sixty six, you add one more six and I'm the goddamned Antichrist.
THERAPIST
Well. That would explain your personal life.
(Pause.)
HAROLD
Oh, that's good. That's pretty good.
Laughter is the best medicine and all that?
THERAPIST
Something like that.
(A beat, as HAROLD looks away, unable to face
the prospect of Therapy-by-one-liner. THE
THERAPIST sees this, and softens.)
THERAPIST
Harold. You still haven't really said
why you decided to come see me.
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HAROLD
Well, you know. After five and half years of phones that don't ring,
I start thinking that maybe it's me.
THERAPIST
Maybe it's what about you.
HAROLD
I don't know!
(Beat)
I'm sorry,
but I mean, that's why I came here, 'cause I don't know.
THERAPIST
What is it that you're hoping that I can do?
HAROLD
Okay. I was wondering
if you had some kind of tests. Some kind of personality test?
I figured that someone in your profession
would have to have some way of, I don't know,
measuring people against some sort of standard.
THERAPIST
I see...
HAROLD
Basically, I'm looking to find out,
from a professional,
whether or not I'm essentially normal. Basically.
In the neighborhood.
(silence.)
Or, okay,
if I'm not in the neighborhood, how far away am I.
Like, to get to the neighborhood do I need a taxi
or a Concorde. You know.
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THERAPIST
You'd like me to test your personality.
HAROLD
Well, yeah, whatever you call it.
Don't you have games, like those inkblots
or the word association thing, stuff like that?
THERAPIST
Well, I don't normally use them, I'd have to make something up...
(HAROLD hangs his head, beaten.)
But I think we should.
HAROLD
You do?
THERAPIST
Yes. Let's try word association.
HAROLD
Okay!
THERAPIST
Okay. So I say a word to you,
and you respond as quickly as you can, right away, don't think too much. Right?
(She produces a small tape recorder and a
canary-yellow cassette, which she inserts.)
Do you mind if I tape this?
HAROLD
Uh, no.
(Beat)
Should I say my name?
30
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THERAPIST
If you like. First name only, please.
HAROLD
Ah. Gotcha. Uh,
this is Harold, March seventeenth, um, first session.
THERAPIST
Okay. You ready?
HAROLD
I am ready.
THERAPIST
Okay. Natural responses, the first thing
that pops into your head.
HAROLD
Yes.
THERAPIST
Kitchen.
HAROLD
Mother.
Wow!
That must say something right there, huh?
THERAPIST
Maybe. Don't think about it. Let's keep going.
HAROLD
Okay. Kitchen, Mother, wow...
THERAPIST
Camisole.
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
Camisole, uh, pass.
THERAPIST
Can't pass.
HAROLD
Nipple. God!
THERAPIST
Harold, you can't worry, they're just words, thoughts, there's no right or wrong,
remember?
HAROLD
Okay.
THERAPIST
Fish.
HAROLD
Rain.
THERAPIST
Cup.
HAROLD
Sugar?
THERAPIST
Tampon.
HAROLD
Uh, grocery store.
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THERAPIST
Nylon.
HAROLD
Stocking.
I'm sorry. This is hard for me.
THERAPIST
Because I'm a woman?
HAROLD
Well, yeah.
THERAPIST
Don't think about it.
HAROLD
I'm trying.
Okay, let's go.
THERAPIST
Vagina.
HAROLD
Are you kidding!
THERAPIST
Harold.
HAROLD
Uh, okay, geez, um, attic.
(Beat)
THERAPIST
Dog.
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
Sleep.
THERAPIST
Teeth?
HAROLD
Plaque.
THERAPIST
Salad.
HAROLD
Diet.
THERAPIST
Dark.
HAROLD
Light.
THERAPIST
Flash.
HAROLD
Flood.
THERAPIST
Wet.
HAROLD
Drop.
34
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THERAPIST
Stroke.
HAROLD
Golf.
THERAPIST
Fast.
HAROLD
Break.
THERAPIST
House.
HAROLD
Lawn.
THERAPIST
Red.
HAROLD
Head.
THERAPIST
Penthouse.
(Beat)
HAROLD
Apartment.
(Beat)
THERAPIST
Dodge.
35
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
Plymouth.
THERAPIST
Duck.
HAROLD
Quack.
THERAPIST
Evasion.
HAROLD
Taxes.
THERAPIST
Guilt.
HAROLD
Mom again.
THERAPIST
Ah.
(Pause.)
HAROLD
So.
THERAPIST
So.
HAROLD
You find out anything?
36
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THERAPIST
Did you?
HAROLD
I don't know.
I don't think so.
(Beat)
It was kind of fun, though.
THERAPIST
May I offer a tentative diagnosis?
HAROLD
Really?
Yes. Absolutely.
(He scoots closer once more.)
THERAPIST
I can't help you, Harold.
(Beat. HAROLD turns away.)
HAROLD
I knew it.
THERAPIST
Harold.
HAROLD
I knew it.
THERAPIST
Harold...
HAROLD
Aw, dammit...
37
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THERAPIST
Harold!
(He looks to her.)
I can't help you
because you don't need it.
HAROLD
I don't need it?
THERAPIST
No.
HAROLD
Yeah, but don't you remember? Five and a half years? What about that?
THERAPIST
Harold, some of my subjects have never had an adult relationship in their whole lives.
May never be able to.
HAROLD
They know this when you bill them?
THERAPIST
Look. There's no question in my mind
that you're going through an unhappy time.
But you're obviously intelligent.
You're reasonably aware of the world around you.
You've got a sense of humor. The fears that you feel are real fears, but they're normal.
And the fact that you're aware of them and are trying to master them is all the more
reason not to worry.
(Pause. HAROLD stands, moves away,
considering.)
Harold?
HAROLD
So... What you're saying is that there's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine.
Right?
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THERAPIST
I find nothing dramatically out of place, no.
What is it?
HAROLD
Well.
It's just that, if I'm fine, like you sayif it's not me
then it's you. It's women.
Right?
THERAPIST
Harold, I think our time is up.
HAROLD
No!
See, of course I worry that it's me,
I mean who wouldn't, right? But I also know
that I'm pretty much an ordinary guy,
I mean, you just said as much yourself just now, and so yeah, I worry that it's me but I
worry more that it's not.
If there's nothing wrong with me, if things are the way they are for no reason except Well,
that's just how things are,
then I'm screwed.
It's like I'm doomed, doomed to keep guessing,
to keep fumbling, and to never know, really, whether I'm guessing right or not.
It's like somebody likes it to be confusing and why would it be so confusing if women
aren't in some way fundamentally different? I don't wanna say evil, it's not that,
it's just that they have different ideas about things, but what are they?
I swear to you,
sometimes
I think I'm gonna be walking along one day, in the woods or somewhere,
and I'm gonna stumble across, I dunno, the women's mother ship or something, waiting to
take you all back...
THERAPIST
There's no mother ship, Harold.
39
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
Yeah.
(Beat)
Of course, that's what you'd be under orders to say.
(Beat)
Just kidding.
Okay. My time's up.
I, uh, appreciate your listening and all.
THERAPIST
You'll be fine, Harold.
HAROLD
Yeah.
(A beat; he indicates the cassette player, still
running.)
Um, could I have that tape?
I mean, since I won't be coming back?
(THERAPIST shrugs.)
THERAPIST
Sure.
(She stops the player and punches the "Eject"
button, holding the tape out to HAROLD, who
hesitates.)
HAROLD
Is there any extra charge?
THERAPIST
On the house.
(He accepts the tape, pockets it as lights FADE TO
BLACK.)
40
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THE HAPPY COUPLE
(LIGHTS UP to discover HAROLD at a small
restaurant table. The table is set for three, but
HAROLD is, of course, alone.
A pause, during which HAROLD glances at his
watch and around the restaurant.
Suddenly, the quiet is shattered by a voice from
across the restaurant:)
THE WIFE
HAAARRR-OOLD!
(And HAROLD'S attention—and ours—is drawn
across stage to see THE HAPPY COUPLE,
consisting of a HUSBAND played by The Man and
a WIFE played by the Woman. THE COUPLE
positively beams, radiating happiness in all
directions about all things... most of all, each
other.)
HUSBAND
Hey, Hey, Harold!
(The following happens very quickly, with the
overlapping awkwardness of all over-eager
greetings; HAROLD rises as they make their way
to the table, continuing squeals and hail-fellowwell-met's until arriving. HAROLD is a bit
overwhelmed as one hand is taken by each; THE
HUSBAND's in a firm handshake and THE
WIFE's in a great aunt's two-handed clasp.
Speaking quickly still:)
WIFE
It is so good to see you!
HUSBAND
Lookin sharp, guy!
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
(THE WIFE has now freed one of her hands to
take the free hand of her HUSBAND, and an
almost-merry circle is formed.)
HAROLD
Hi.
WIFE
How long has it been?
HAROLD
Yeah, I know, it's beenWIFE
It has been ages, Harold.
HUSBAND
Been a long time, guy.
HAROLD
Yeah, it's been awhile.
WIFE
It is so good to see you.
HUSBAND
You look great.
HAROLD
Thanks, thanks, so do you two.
Please, sit.
HUSBAND
Best idea I've heard tonight.
(All sit.)
42
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
WIFE
There we are.
HUSBAND
Boy, feels good to take a load off, huh?
WIFE
We have been on the go all day.
HUSBAND
This one had me in every little shop in the city today.
Finally at the last one the old gold card melted down to slag,
so I figured hey let's call it a day, huh?
WIFE
Oh, you!
(She kisses him. Pause, as they look lovingly into
each other's eyes while HAROLD becomes keenly
interested in the contours of the table. Eventually:)
HUSBAND
So Harold! How's by you? My tax dollars hard still keeping your lab open?
HAROLD
So far, that's right...
HUSBAND
Boy, university life. "The more things change," etcetera, huh?
HAROLD
Pretty much.
WIFE
Now, Harold. I thought for sure that you'd have...
that sweet girl, oh, what was her name...
43
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HUSBAND
You mean the one from the whatchamacallit,
over at the thing, you know...
WIFE
No, no, no, not her, god no,
you know the one, we met her at the... oh, shoot,
where did we meet her honey,
oh Harold, you know who I mean, aren't you still seeing her?
HAROLD
No. Not for awhile now.
WIFE
Oh, Harold, I'm sorry.
HAROLD
No, don't worry about it.
WIFE
Still, you should've felt free to invite someone.
HAROLD
No, really, it's okay.
HUSBAND
Sometimes a man's gotta go it alone, huh?
HAROLD
Looks that way, yeah.
HUSBAND
Damn straight,
(Beat)
Table's a little small isn't it?
44
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
WIFE
It's not small, it's cozy. We'll have a nice, cozy dinner.
HUSBAND
Be easier to keep my elbows off the table, anyway...
WIFE
Well, I'll have to remember that.
HUSBAND
Come on, now, I'm not doing so bad,
Didn't I get all my forks right at the banquet?
(She kisses him.)
WIFE
You were very excellent.
HUSBAND
What the hell does anyone need with three forks at one meal?
HAROLD
Well, you—
HUSBAND
Makes you wish for the good old days, huh? The spear and the ax.
"BEER MAID! MORE GROG!"
WIFE
Honey...
HUSBAND
When men were men and sheep were nervous, huh?
45
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
WIFE
Honey.
HUSBAND
Speaking of beer maids, is there any sign of life from the help?
HAROLD
Uh, yeah, she came by earlier
but I told her to wait until you got here.
HUSBAND
(for the waitress to hear:)
Well we're here!
WIFE
They know we're here, honey,
they know it across the street...
HUSBAND
Is she a riot?
Well listen, I gotta make a pit stop, my back teeth are swimmin,
if she comes get me a double scotch and water, 'kay honey?
WIFE
'kay. Hurry back.
(HUSBAND exits. Pause.)
He'll be okay once he eats. His blood sugar's low.
HAROLD
He's okay.
WIFE
The eternal frat-boy...
Whoops. That just slipped out, didn't it. Hush my mouth...
(She mock-slaps her own wrist. Beat.)
I am sorry, Harold, about you and... that girl.
46
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
It was no big thing, honest to god.
We were never what anyone could call serious.
WIFE
Well. You'll be all right. A guy like you,
you must be beating them off with sticks, huh?
HAROLD
Not exactly...
WIFE
Harold?
HAROLD
I'm in kind of a... slump. At the moment.
WIFE
Well we're gonna have to fix that right up,
now I know lots of girls
who would kill to go out with a sweet, bright, good-looking guy like you,
what do you say?
HAROLD
Maybe it's better if it sorts itself out.
WIFE
I know, I know. Always the matchmaker, that's me.
Bad habit. Slap me if I bring it up again.
HAROLD
Oh, I don't think we'll need to go that far.
WIFE
See? Sweet. And a sense of humor.
You'll be fine, Harold.
47
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
That's what they keep telling me...
(WIFE now looks around and, with a sense of the
covert, quickly pulls from her purse a single
cigarette which she lights, causing HAROLD to
look around also. She takes a drag with almost
supernatural enjoyment. Slow exhale. Beat.)
WIFE
Well. Who knows. Maybe you're better off.
HAROLD
What do you mean?
(Beat)
WIFE
Nothing.
HAROLD
No, come on, what do you mean?
If I'm better off, I could sure stand to know how, exactly.
(Beat. She continues smoking furtively, not meeting
his gaze.)
Hey, waitasecond,
is there something wrong, between you andWIFE
No, no, look, this isn't the time, don't get me started. Things are fine.
Things are always fine.
(Beat)
Really. They're fine.
HAROLD
Okay.
48
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
WIFE
It's just that "fine" can be so goddamned boring.
So... Wonder-bread, you know?
HAROLD
Um...
WIFE
I mean, it's no big deal, it's just
one of those pattern things, you know? You become aware of a cycle, and you start
itching, to change it.
To break it.
To shatter it.
HAROLD
Uh-huh.
WIFE
But things are fine. Really.
HAROLD
Good.
(Beat)
He's not... ummm...
WIFE
What.
HAROLD
I don't know how to say it, it's not a... never mind, it's none of my business.
WIFE
No, what, it's okay.
HAROLD
No, really, it's none of my-
49
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
WIFE
Harold. It's okay. Really.
HAROLD
Is he... mistreating you, at all?
WIFE
Oh, god, no. Nothing so dramatic.
Is he treating me would be more to the point.
Treating me like, like, like anything except an... extra limb.
HAROLD
Oh.
WIFE
I mean, it's nothing blatant, it's just
a kind of... tacit expectation, you know?
I think I spoiled him.
I used to go out of my way
to do things for him
little favors
And I did it because I loved him
love him, I mean,
and so naturally, he became... used
to it, He started to, you know, expect it. Subconsciously. It's perfectly understandable. It's
my fault.
HAROLD
But you don't like it.
WIFE
It makes me want to tear my face off.
HAROLD
Oh.
Well.
That's bad.
50
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
WIFE
But it's my fault, really.
I just need to... wean him.
God. Nothing ever changes, does it.
HAROLD
Well.
(Her cigarette nearly gone, she produces a small tin,
such as a Sucrets tin, and puts out her cigarette,
depositing the butt in the tin; she pulls out a tissue
and quickly wipes the ashtray; pulls out a tiny
aerosol can of air freshener and spritzes above their
heads. Every move has the feeling of pit-crew
efficiency and practice.)
Not bad.
WIFE
What he doesn't know, et cetera, et cetera.
(She is checking for something.)
Shit...
HAROLD
What?
WIFE
I'm out of breath mints, shit, shit, shit….
HAROLD
Oh, well, I'm sure no one willWIFE
Oh, he'll notice, you better believe it...
but! Never fear!
(She produces a small travel-size toothbrush and
toothpaste.)
51
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
I bet you were a girl scout.
WIFE
Yep. Probably still would be
if they hadn't caught me in the boy's camp.
(She is rising.)
Cover for me, 'kay? I'll be right back.
HAROLD
Wait, if the waitress comes, what do you...?
WIFE
Oh, god, um, white wine, okay?
You're a pal.
(She kisses him and exits. HAROLD sits, alone
once more. He sniffs the air experimentally, shrugs.
He scans the horizon and sees the HUSBAND
approaching. He enters.)
HUSBAND
Whew! I feel like a new man!
(Notices WIFE'S absence.)
Don't tell me—little girl's room, right? To freshen up?
I tell you—I think that each woman
should be given her own private little bathroom trailer, right away, at birth. Just like the
movie stars.
Drinks on the way?
HAROLD
Um, no, not yet, I could-
52
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HUSBAND
No, no, sit, it's her own tip she's spending. She'll learn. Women.
Never around when you want em.
They are their own species.
HAROLD
If they were all like yours then that'd be all right.
HUSBAND
Yeah.
(Beat)
I meant what I said earlier.
About how sometimes a man has to go it alone?
HAROLD
Oh, yeah.
HUSBAND
For awhile, I mean. Huh?
HAROLD
Sure.
HUSBAND
Because, I'll tell ya:
It's during that time that you find out things.
About yourself. About the world.
Hell, you know what I'm saying.
HAROLD
Absolutely.
HUSBAND
Things that you need to know, that you have to know, because without that knowledge,
you're...
I don't know.
Less, somehow.
53
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
Less?
HUSBAND
Less. Of a man.
Less of a person.
HAROLD
Oh.
HUSBAND
I gotta tell you:
There's a certain part of me
that envies your, what shall we say, your
position at this point in your life.
HAROLD
Really?
HUSBAND
Your freedom.
HAROLD
Hm.
HUSBAND
I'm not saying anything against the wife,
let's be clear on that.
But you know:
Once that particular phase of your life is over
then every now and then, you catch yourself wondering.
HAROLD
Wondering what?
54
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HUSBAND
Did I find out enough?
Am I
Less?
Or am I enough?
HAROLD
Huh...
HUSBAND
And I'm not talking about male menopause
or anything like that.
HAROLD
What are you talking about?
HUSBAND
Your freedom to learn, remember?
That,
and a tiny curiosity
that a tiny part of me has
sometimes.
You know what I'm saying.
HAROLD
I think so.
(Beat)
But things are good? Between you andHUSBAND
Oh, things are great, absolutely! She
is a dynamite lady, as you know. I'm a lucky guy. And—here's what's important:
I know I'm a lucky guy.
Huh?
No, things are good. Things are very good.
(Beat)
55
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HUSBAND
continued
Course, nothing's perfect.
That would be boring. Perfection? Yuck.
But things are pretty good.
(Beat)
Course, I wonder sometimes, if she's happy.
I mean, as happy as I am. You know?
I wonder sometimes, because you can't always tell, I mean,
what man knows the mind of a woman, huh?
HAROLD
I can't answer that question.
HUSBAND
There is no answer, it's a trick question.
So, you know. Sometimes you wonder: Is she happy?
And all that you can go on is her behavior. Little shifts, you know?
HAROLD
Mmm.
HUSBAND
Like, okay, here's an example: A few years ago, after we first got married,
she would do anything for me. Anything. Anywhere.
A real selflessness, a real generosity.
But later, just lately really, there's been a tiny
and I do mean tiny
shift.
If I ask her to do something, like say, we're at home,
I ask her to bring in something from the next room,
I mean, what the hell, she's in there,
if I were in there I'd get it myself but she's in there,
so I ask, and I get this tiny ripple
of resentment.
I tell you, I'm sure that I'm not even supposed to catch it, I don't even know if she's aware
of it, but it's there. Tiny. A tiny reduction of…
I don't even know what to call it…
56
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
Service?
HUSBAND
(wary, not wanting to go too far, but desperate for an
ally.)
Service?
Hm.
Service.
Tiny reduction in service,
yeah, okay, I'll buy that. "Service"
in the sense that one's actions
should be in service of one's relationships.
Right?
HAROLD
Huh.
(HUSBAND spots the WAITRESS offstage.)
HUSBAND
Oh, finally. Hey. YO!
(THE WOMAN enters, having shed the pieces
which identified her as The Wife and dressed now
in a serving apron and holding an order pad and
pen. Nevertheless, the resemblance is clear.)
HAROLD
My God!
HUSBAND
What.
WAITRESS
Is anything wrong, sir?
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
HAROLD
Um, geez, yeah, it's just that you,
you remind me of someone,
isn't the resemblance amazing?
HUSBAND
Resemblance to who?
HAROLD
Resemblance to who, are you serious?!?
(THE HUSBAND studies her; shrugs.)
HUSBAND
I don't know what you're seeing, buddy.
WAITRESS
Someone friendly, I hope.
HAROLD
Uh, yeah, I hope so too…
I hope so too.
(He cannot take it.)
Excuse me a moment.
(HAROLD exits in the same direction as THE
WIFE; WAITRESS AND HUSBAND look at
each other; LIGHTS FADE TO BLACK.)
58
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
THE CHAINSMOKER
(HAROLD is seated at a bar and is—you guessed
it—alone. Or is he? Upon closer study, we see a
half-empty rocks glass and an ashtray full of butts
beside him.
THE WOMAN enters, dressed as a barmaid. She
notices the ashtray and exhales in exasperation,
moving in to remove it. She looks to HAROLD
and decides to say:)
WOMAN
If I were you, I would get while the gettin's good.
HAROLD
Excuse me?
WOMAN
He's just takin a break, right?
Little boy's room, back in a minute?
HAROLD
Who?
WOMAN
Your new best friend.
HAROLD
Oh! Him. Yeah, I guess so.
WOMAN
So now's your chance.
HAROLD
What do you mean?
59
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
WOMAN
I mean that he does this every night.
Every night he sits in this bar.
Every night he selects a new Father Confessor.
HAROLD
He's not so bad.
WOMAN
Ho, you say that now.
HAROLD
He's just lonely.
WOMAN
Yeah, well ask yourself why he's lonely.
I'm tellin you: every night.
HAROLD
Well, I have to go pretty soon anyway.
WOMAN
So it might as well be now, you've done your good deed.
A cute guy like you should certainly have more rewarding ways to spend his evenings.
HAROLD
Yeah, well. Like I said—I do have to be going.
WOMAN
Good for you.
(We hear a hacking cough.)
Oh boy. Too late.
(She exits just as THE CHAINSMOKER enters,
adjusting his fly and coughing around an
omnipresent cigarette. He is perhaps twenty years
older than HAROLD and far down the road to a
lonely cirrhosis.)
60
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
CHAINSMOKER
Hey Buddy! 'Sget 'nother round, huh?
(He sits, and produces another ashtray, doubtless
liberated from the smoking section, the latest move
in a nightly game against the rules.)
HAROLD
Uh, actually, I have to be going.
It was good talking to you, I'll see you around...
CHAINSMOKER
Where you goin?
HAROLD
I gotta get home.
CHAINSMOKER
What for, what's at home?
HAROLD
I got stuff I gotta do.
CHAINSMOKER
It's Friday.
HAROLD
I know.
CHAINSMOKER
It's Friday night.
HAROLD
I know.
61
Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
CHAINSMOKER
It's nine o'clock on a Friday night.
HAROLD
You're good at this, you should work for the phone company.
CHAINSMOKER
What kinda stuff is it that you gotta start doin it at nine o'clock on a Friday night
when you got the whole weekend?
You're telling me that this "stuff" won't wait a couple more hours?
WOMAN
Excuse me, sir?
CHAINSMOKER
Not now sweetheart, thanks.
WOMAN
Sir, this is a No Smoking section?
I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you
to put out your cigarette, or else I can move you
to a smoking table.
CHAINSMOKER
I like being at the bar!
WOMAN
I'm sorry, sir, it's policy.
CHAINSMOKER
Fuck "Policy."
WOMAN
There is a third option.
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
CHAINSMOKER
Yeah? What's that?
WOMAN
You could haul your ugly ass off of that stool
and out into the street. And then you can smoke til you burn.
(She smiles sweetly and then stalks off. When she
is safely out of range:)
CHAINSMOKER
Whore.
HAROLD
I Look, I really have to go anyway...
CHAINSMOKER
Women like her,
you give em this much responsibility
an they act like they run the whole fuckin show, you know? Power crazy. If they have to
bust yer balls, thass okay too. Oh, Christ, okay, look, I'm puttin it out, aright?
HAROLD
I gotta go.
I'm sorry.
CHAINSMOKER
You're sorry?
HAROLD
Yeah.
CHAINSMOKER
Jesus. It interrupts a perfectly good conversation, "A",
and "B" you're "sorry." And you're still doin it?!
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HAROLD
I'm expecting a call, all right?
(Beat)
CHAINSMOKER
A call.
HAROLD
A call, I'm expecting a telephone call.
CHAINSMOKER
From a woman.
HAROLD
Yes, yes, from a woman!
I met her last night and she is going to call me tonight, is that okay?
CHAINSMOKER
You're shittin me, right?
HAROLD
I swear, that's all that I'm doing!
CHAINSMOKER
That's all.
HAROLD
That's all I'm gonna do.
CHAINSMOKER
Lemme see if I got this.
All you're gonna do, all that you're doin here
is you're gonna walk outta here, where you're having a perfectly good time,
you're gonna walk out, pay money for a cab back to your apartment your empty apartment
at nine o'clock on a Friday night to wait,
to be on stand-by
for a woman. Because she told you to.
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HAROLD
She didn't tell me to, she asked when she could call.
CHAINSMOKER
So why didn't she tell you a time
when she'd be home for you to call?
HAROLD
I guess that this was easier.
CHAINSMOKER
Easier for her.
HAROLD
So what?
CHAINSMOKER
So she asks you to adjust your evening for her convenience
and you don't find this suspect?
HAROLD
No! Look, if I hadn't been willing to do it this way
I wouldn't have given her a time, right?
This is something I choose to do.
CHAINSMOKER
Uh-huh. Well. I sure hope she actually calls.
HAROLD
What do you mean you hope she actually calls?
CHAINSMOKER
What I said, Jesus,
are you not getting any of this? Hello, Houston,
please respond, over...
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HAROLD
She set all this up. She asked me,
this whole thing is so she can call.
CHAINSMOKER
If she wants to.
HAROLD
You don't even know her!
CHAINSMOKER
Don't I? I think I know more than enough.
HAROLD
You are so full of it.
(He grabs his coat; takes a step; holds.)
Why wouldn't she call?
CHAINSMOKER
Look. I'm not saying that this is necessarily
what is happening here. But:
There are women. Who set up a whole string of guys,
who weave this elaborate fuckin safety net of possibilities for any given night.
If plan "A" doesn't work out, hey— she's covered. She grabs the nearest phone
and makes a call to some pitiful horny bastard
who sits, waiting obediently like some goddamn lapdog.
HAROLD
You amaze me.
CHAINSMOKER
No, go ahead. Go! Assume your position
in some bimbo's contingency chain, Christ,
let's not enjoy ourselves if you can go home and do that, no,
by all means, go home and make sure to keep yourself available.
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HAROLD
What makes you think you know so much, huh?
You don't know me, you don't know her,
what is exactly is it that you do know, tell me that!
CHAINSMOKER
There's a sound.
It's a sound which you learn over time, a sound which is now
carved
into my brain tissue. Surgery couldn't remove it. And it's a sound you know, too.
It's the sound of a telephone
not ringing.
The sound of a telephone
which has been pulled out
to an easy-to-reach spot.
Uncluttered. Clear access from any and all directions. It sits there, and you sit beside it,
pretending to read or watch TV or whatever. And after you've been waiting for awhile,
your ears start to pick up this faint high-pitched
smug sounding little whine.
A kind of an echo of other calls, calls that actually did come through.
You hear that sound, and you know what it is:
It's a tease. And you keep sittin there, letting it happen. You know the sound I mean.
(Pause. HAROLD pulls his eyes away and down,
and shrugs into his jacket, fumbling for a goodbye
and managing:)
HAROLD
I'll, uh,
see you around.
(HAROLD exits.
Beat.
THE CHAINSMOKER calls after him:)
CHAINSMOKER
Have a good time!
Yeah. Like it matters. Fuckin phones. Next Best Thing to Being There.
Next best, not the best, next best.
Fuckin compromises, everywhere you look.
"I'll call you, how bout I do that, I leave now, and then later we can say things to each
other without having to be together." Compromises. People. Everywhere you look.
Fuck it.
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(He begins lighting up another cigarette; behind
him, THE WOMAN notices, sighs, musters her
professionalism and approaches him.)
WOMAN
Sir?
CHAINSMOKER
Huh? Oh, shit, okay, okay, okay, okay, there, it's out, it's gone, it was never here, aright?
WOMAN
I don't want to have to ask you to leave.
CHAINSMOKER
Yes you do.
(She turns to leave.)
Hey waitasecond.
(She turns, waiting.)
You got balls.
(She waits.)
Whose were they?
(Another sigh and another attempted exit, but:)
Wait, wait, it was a joke, Christ, a little humor. Here, lemme try another one:
Guy's at a bar. Disco. Goes up to a woman, good looking broad.
He says "Wanna dance?"
She says "No thank you"
and so the guy says "So I guess a blow job is outta the question!"
Ya get it?
(And during these final lines he has produced
another cigarette and lights it, smiling his
challenge.)
The guy, see, he's got nothin to lose.
WOMAN
You know what?
I'm gonna bend the rules a little bit.
I'm gonna let you smoke that.
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CHAINSMOKER
See? I knew you were all right.
WOMAN
I'm gonna let you smoke it
because I look at you... I look at your body,
I listen to your voice
and sometimes, a woman can tell things about a man….
CHAINSMOKER
Uh-huh?
WOMAN
And I can tell,
just from watching and listening
that that cigarette
is the only thing you're gonna get
out of me or any other woman tonight
(She tears his check of her pad, slaps it onto the bar
in front of him.)
Pay at the door..
(She exits.
Beat.
He blows smoke after her in pitiful defiance, and
slumps when nobody notices. Another beat, and
then he stabs the cigarette out viciously on the bar
as LIGHTS FADE.)
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THE REHEARSAL
(LIGHTS UP on HAROLD, alone in his
apartment. We can see clearly a cassette tape player
around which is the mangled packaging of a recent
purchase.
It is late at night.
HAROLD stands, quickly scanning a small
booklet; it seems to be instructions of some sort.
He nods as he reads; he seems ready.
He takes a deep breath and hits the "play" button.
From the player we hear music of the most beige,
artificial sort-offensively cheerful and utterly
generic. After a few bars, the music fades under the
deeply confident voice of THE MAN:)
MAN'S VOICE
Congratulations on your purchase
of this fine new Helping Hand product.
We hope you'll try our complete line
of the most effective self-help products. Helping Hand—We Help You to Help Yourself.
And now, here's Debbi.
(The music surges up once more and then fades
completely. A moment, and then we hear another
voice, ostensibly that of Debbi, played by THE
WOMAN. She speaks in warm and well-modulated
tones, soothing and safe.)
WOMAN
Hi. I'm Debbi. I'll be your guide
as we explore The Exciting World of Meeting Women.
Before we begin, a few words of advice:
It will be a good idea to make sure that you're comfortable and that we won't be disturbed.
Lock the door, and take the phone off the hook.
We need to be alone.
(HAROLD has already done these things; the
book said to. He smiles and waits.)
Have you done all that?
(HAROLD nods.)
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WOMAN
continued
Good.
Now. We all know
that meeting just the right person can be a real problem. Most of us have trouble knowing
what to do, what to say. But don't worry—you're not alone!
Most of us have exactly the same problems as you.
If you'll turn to page three of your Helping Hands booklet, we'll get started.
(The irritating music returns. HAROLD turns
the one page necessary to reach page three, but the
musical interlude seems to be for those who have a
much tougher time with such things. Eventually)
Hi. I'm back. Have you found page three? Good. When you hear the tone—
(And we all hear a sample of the tone.)
—begin reading from the script.
You read the lines marked "Him"
and I'll read the lines marked "Her." Okay?
Good.
Here we go.
(The tone sounds; HAROLD quickly responds:)
HAROLD
Say, hello there.
(There is an unnaturally long pause. Then:)
WOMAN
Hi.
HAROLD
Uh,
my name is Harold.
(Again, a too-long pause.)
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WOMAN
Hi. I'm Debbi. It's nice to meet you.
HAROLD
Um, The Pleasure
is all mine?
Um,
it would be my privilege if you would allow me to
(But this time he is cut off.)
WOMAN
Why, that would be lovely, thank you.
(The tone sounds once more.)
See?
Meeting new people can be as easy as that.
Practice these lines at home, and then you'll be ready to try them out on some lucky girl.
Let's move ahead now, to page five of the booklet.
(HAROLD has only to turn another, single page—
yet the now-maddening music has of course
returned for a brief interlude, by the end of which
HAROLD is staring murderously at the machine.
Eventually:)
Hi there. I'm back. Have you found page five? Good.
Now that you've met the girl of your choice
you've taken her out. And now it's time to say goodbye. Or is it?
When you hear the tone
(Again, just in case the listener needs it, a sample
tone, then:)
...begin reading from the script provided in the booklet. You read the lines marked "Him."
I'll read the lines marked "Her."
Okay?
Good.
Here we go.
(The tone sounds.)
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HAROLD
Thank you for this evening,
I had a wonderful time.
(A pause, just enough to break rhythm, then:)
WOMAN
Thank you. It was terrific.
HAROLD
It's a beautiful night, isn't it?
(Pause.)
WOMAN
Yes.
(Pause.)
It is a beautiful night.
HAROLD
It's a shame that it has to end.
WOMAN
What do you mean "End"?
HAROLD
I would hate to overstay my welcome.
WOMAN
You're quite the gentleman.
HAROLD
I think that people deserve...
(And he turns his page, and stops; something is
wrong. He flips back, checking, and flips forward
again. The tape, of course, continues with:)
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WOMAN
Oh, there's no doubt about that.
HAROLD
Waitasecond, I don't have the next page...
WOMAN
I think that would be all right.
HAROLD
Did you know this page was missing?
WOMAN
(Laughing:)
What a thing to say!
HAROLD
You're probably old and fat in real life.
WOMAN
(Still continuing from some unknown
scripted dialogue:)
I couldn't agree more.
(HAROLD punches the Stop button, making a
sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. He
thumbs through the booklet once more, but that
page is gone for good. He decides to have some
fun:)
HAROLD
Conversations Not Appearing in This Series. Chapter One.
(He is rewinding the tape, and stops it at:)
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WOMAN
—the lines marked "Her."
Okay?
Good.
Here we go.
HAROLD
I love the way you went down on me in the cab, you're terrific.
WOMAN
Thank you. It was terrific.
(The sophomoric fun of this cracks HAROLD up:)
HAROLD
Uhhhhh, okay, waitasecond...
(But too late—she says her next line:)
WOMAN
Yes. It is a beautiful night.
HAROLD
And you have a beautiful rear end.
WOMAN
What do you mean "End"?
HAROLD
Rear End. Fanny. Tush. The most beautiful ass in the self-help business.
WOMAN
You're quite the gentleman.
HAROLD
There's nothing gentle about me, baby….
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WOMAN
Oh, there's no doubt about that.
HAROLD
You want me to prove it to you?
WOMAN
I think that would be all right.
HAROLD
It won't just be all right….
WOMAN
What a thing to say!
HAROLD
It'll be the best thing that ever happened to you.
WOMAN
I couldn't agree more.
(And HAROLD, by now bored and just a little
embarrassed with this game, again punches the
Stop button. HAROLD then pauses, looks around
as if to confirm his utter lack of options and then
gives a what-the-hell shrug, and turns to the next
section of script in the booklet. He fast-forwards
the tape to find the beginning of the next section.
He hits play to see where he is and hears sounds
which can only be those of passionate lovemaking:)
WOMAN
Ohhhhh... Ohhh, god... Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…
Oh, yesss, yes, right... there, mmmmm... oh, baby, yesss... easy, easy, go slow... slooow...
therrrrr... rrrright therrre...
(HAROLD, having been caught up for a moment,
quickly turns the machine off and cannot resist a
quick glance around insuring his privacy.)
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HAROLD
Helping hand, huh?
(Perhaps he makes a short-hand gesture for
masturbation.)
Help with that I don't need...
(He looks around once more, and almost against his
will eases a hand toward the machine, the most
casual gesture in the world, just checking the
machine here... and he fast forwards again,
stopping it and hitting Play; the voice which now
emits is shrill, pained:)
WOMAN
I saw you! I saw you with her!
What do you think I am, some door mat that you can just
walk all over, just shut up! Shut up!
I'm sick of this, just sick to death, this entire relationship is going nowhere, DON'T YOU
TURN AWAY FROM ME!
I am talking to you, you had better listen when I am(But HAROLD has stopped the machine again and
is now regarding it with something akin to fear. He
studies the machine carefully, and then gingerly
fast-forwards one more time, takes a breath and hits
Play. There is a moment of silence, and then, with
exactly the same tones and inflection heard in the
opening scene, we hear:)
WOMAN
You don't know anything about women. Do you.
(HAROLD freezes in complete panic, and then
fumbles for the machine and jabs the stop button.
He jabs it again, and then slaps it once for good
measure.
He stares, eyes wide, and then very carefully ejects
the tape and takes it out slowly, as if it might come
alive in his hands.
He inspects it—has it been tampered with?
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He places it down, and steps away from it— what
to do?
He suddenly remembers and reaches into a pocket,
withdrawing a bright, canary yellow cassette we
recognize from the Therapist's office. He inserts the
tape, and hits Play. We hear)
THERAPIST
You'll be fine, Harold.
(He stops it, rewinds, and plays it again.)
You'll be fine, Harold.
(He picks up the machine and holds it close,
cradling it as he rewinds once more. He continues
to seek comfort in this repeated phrase as the lights
FADE TO BLACK.)
INTERMISSION
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THE MECHANIC
(LIGHTS UP on the AUTO MECHANIC, alone.
He is enjoying a nice day outdoors, in the yard
which fronts the garage which he himself owns and
operates. On the ground before him, or perhaps on
a small table is cloth, spread upon which are the
pieces of a recently is assembled carburetor, all laid
out with military precision. He sits before these
pieces in relaxed command of all he surveys,
cleaning the pieces and slowly reassembling them
during the ensuing scene.)
MECHANIC
Whistle while you work
so you don't look like a jerk
dum dum de dum, duh dum de dum,
so whistle while you work...
(He continues humming as HAROLD enters. He
carries a magazine from the garage's waiting room
rolled up in his hand; he is not even aware that he is
still holding it—its weight has simply grown
comfortable, even reassuring, in this environment
where men's hands are better filled with some
implement or another.
He pauses at a respectful distance, uncertain of how
to approach this high priest of hardware. Like so
many men with remedial mechanical skills,
HAROLD feels somehow unworthy even to
observe; he is merely checking progress, as he has
been here for awhile now. THE MECHANIC after
a few beats becomes aware of his presence.)
MECHANIC
Hey, Harold! Howzit hangin.
HAROLD
Um, okay.
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MECHANIC
Is this a beauty day or what.
HAROLD
It sure is.
MECHANIC
I'll tell you something….
(looks around, insuring confidentiality, then
leans in:)
I know what your problem is.
HAROLD
(Uncertain—what problem does he mean?)
Um, what—
you do?
MECHANIC
I knew it the second I saw you drive in.
HAROLD
Really?
MECHANIC
Yep.
HAROLD
What's, uh,
what's that?
MECHANIC
Right here.
(He holds up the partially reassembled carb.
HAROLD looks and is relieved that this
conversation won't go where he feared… but then
realizes that he's not out of the woods yet, since he's
expected to identify the object in the
MECHANIC's hand.)
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HAROLD
Oh! That's, uh, what's that,
isn't that the, uh, whatssis, the um...
MECHANIC
Kuh...
HAROLD
Kuh, kuh, kuh-ool, um...
MECHANIC
Kuh-ar...
HAROLD
Kuh-ar, kuh-ar, kar? My car?
MECHANIC
Car-buretor. Ah, you knew that, right?
HAROLD
Ah, carburetor.
MECHANIC
Yep. Took one look at you driving up,
said here comes another rice burner,
bound to be the injectors or the carb or both
and here it is.
HAROLD
Oh.
MECHANIC
Now I can see the dollar signs flyin around in your head
and I wanna tell you not to worry.
I do good work, I charge a fair price, and I do it all at a pretty good clip, so don't worry—
I ain't gonna rape ya,
and you won't be stuck up here away from civilization much longer. Awright?
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HAROLD
Okay.
MECHANIC
Get some coffee?
HAROLD
Yeah, I had some.
MECHANIC
Too nice a day to sit inside though, huh.
HAROLD
Yeah.
MECHANIC
Plus the readin material ain't exactly top-notch.
Whatcha got there, zat Cosmo?
HAROLD
Huh? Oh!
(He suddenly has a memory of his hand closing
around the magazine; he unrolls it and it is indeed
Cosmopolitan. He is mortified.)
Oh, uh, yeah, I just, uh,
had this,
and uh...
MECHANIC
Is that the one with
"Being Sexually Active for the Next Thirty Years!"?
HAROLD
Um...
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MECHANIC
Or the one with "No Toothbrush—Now What?"
HAROLD
Yeah, I saw that.
MECHANIC
Crazy fuckin broads, huh?
HAROLD
Yeah...
MECHANIC
Ahh, I gotta keep it. Cosmo, Glamour, all that shit.
Cause most times usually, it's the wife brings the car in
and they got no idea they're gonna be stuck up here,
so I keep all that garbage around, keeps em off my ass.
HAROLD
Huh.
MECHANIC
I mean can you believe the shit they actually print in 'ose fuckin things?
HAROLD
I don't know...
MECHANIC
I mean I read it, I'm not gonna lie to ya.
You're stuck in the crapper, see one lyin around,
what the fuck, right?
And sometimes they got good pictures, you know—
"Slinky Lingerie," or "Six steps to a Sexier Bustline,"
that kinda thing.
HAROLD
Yeah…
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
MECHANIC
But that other shit, god awmighty, you know?
HAROLD
Uh-huh.
MECHANIC
I mean, I read it, sure I do, cause it's like sneakin into their meetings, right?
I wanna know what they're passin off as the gospel de jour, ya know?
And it is such horseshit, come on— "What Your Man Really Wants."
HAROLD
Really?
MECHANIC
I swear to god. And hey--they ain't been right once about what I want.
HAROLD
Really.
MECHANIC
Ah, what the fuck is the point.
All it does is prove whatcha knew already, and that is that women are fucked. Huh?
HAROLD
I don't know.
MECHANIC
They are fucked, trust me on this one,
they are fubar.
HAROLD
Foo-bar?
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Manly Men by Bo Wilson, rev 9/04
MECHANIC
(intent on the carb he is holding, trying to adjust
some tiny detail.)
Fucked
Up
Beyond
All
Repair.
(Holds up the carb.)
This, I can fix. Women? What're you gonna do?
HAROLD
I don't know.
MECHANIC
Which ain't to say that you can't figure out
what it is that's in their heads, It's just that when you do figure it out,
it don't make a fuckin ounce a sense.
HAROLD
Huh. But you can figure it out?
MECHANIC
Oh, sure.
HAROLD
Huh.
MECHANIC
It's not easy, but it's not impossible.
Like what I'm doin here: Difficult. Time consumin. Mysterious to someone
who don't know about it.
But not impossible.
HAROLD
No.
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MECHANIC
Cause, like, I'm doin it. Right?
You just pay attention to how it comes apart
and it'll go back together, no problems.
Now, you don't pay attention-- that's a problem.
You let your mind wander, then all of a sudden you end up with some little tiny thing,
you don't know where the fuck it came from
or where it's supposed to go,
and so you talk yourself into thinkin
that it ain't even a part of what you're doin, nah, see,
it was already there, on the ground or somethin, right?
And then the next day the throttle sticks
on Mr. Hammerlock's fuckin Volvo and he ends up drivin right offa fuckin cliff,
all cause one little piece
is missin. Huh?
If you pay attention,
these things do not happen.
And here's the point, see,
it's the same way with women. It's real simple. You just have to pay attention.
Keep your eyes open. Because the whole thing boils down to one question:
Is she a Before Woman, or an After Woman.
HAROLD
Before or after what?
MECHANIC
Uh-huh. That's the thing. Okay:
There comes a moment in every woman's life.
It starts out like any other moment,
but then there's this slow bloom of awareness, right? Something that seems so obvious
she can't believe she hasn't seen it before now.
It's the fact
that somewhere out there
is sex.
Somewhere out there, sex is happening. A lot.
And that this is normal. Natural.
She realizes that, on a, you know, global scale,
sex isn't any particularly special occasion, no, sex is ongoing.
Right now, it is happening.
In laundromats, behind the driers
Big fancy hotel rooms. Offices, lights out, blinds closed.
Phone booths. Parked cars. Moving cars.
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HAROLD
In front of fireplaces...
MECHANIC
Inside of elevators...
HAROLD
Back yard hammocks...
MECHANIC
Broom closets...
HAROLD
On the decks of Carnival Cruise Ships!
(Beat)
MECHANIC
Yeah... or wherever. You get the idea.
HAROLD
They gain an awareness of sex.
MECHANIC
Not only that but of what it means, seecause if it's really happening everywhere like that, then it must be okay, right?
It's natural, it's a fact of human existence. It's all okay.
HAROLD
And so after they've had this
realization, then that's what you mean when you say-MECHANIC
No, no, no, no,
you're gettin ahead of me, see, don't get ahead of me, okay?
Remember what I said: One piece at a time. Right?
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HAROLD
Right. Sorry.
MECHANIC
It's okay.
There's a second half to all of this, a second, unforeseen realization.
The second thing they realize, some of them, after "sex is normal"
is that sex could be fun. Oughta be fun.
Maybe before they've always been a little swamped with other ideas, right,
maybe that sex is a form of power, or that sex is the symbol of some sacred pact,
or whatever, you can't do nothing with women like that,
but : After she has realized that sex is supposed to be happenin,
and that it oughta be fun, this woman
is the woman you wanna learn how to spot. This is the woman you want to approach.
HAROLD
And this
understanding of hersthis is something trained eyes like yours can spot.
MECHANIC
You don't believe me.
HAROLD
I didn't say that.
MECHANIC
Hey, you can believe what you want.
I know what I know.
HAROLD
How do you spot them, how do you know.
MECHANIC
You can just tell, it's a look. What can I tell you?
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(Beat. HAROLD looks at the magazine and begins
leafing through it, pausing at a photo. He looks at
it, looks to the MECHANIC who has returned to
his work, and holds the photo out to him.)
MECHANIC continued
Yeah?
HAROLD
I think that this
is an After woman.
MECHANIC
Hm.
(Studies photo briefly.)
No.
HAROLD
No? Why not?
MECHANIC
Hell, I don't know,
I mean, it's not up to me, it's not my decision,
she's just not there.
HAROLD
How can you tell, I mean what specifically,
is it a look in the eyes or the way she's standing or what?
MECHANIC
Jesus wept, buddy, I don't know how to make any clearer, I mean, if you can't see it...
HAROLD
Well, maybe your could furnish me
with some basis for comparison.
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(HAROLD holds out the magazine; the
MECHANIC takes it and begins leafing through as
HAROLD looks on.)
MECHANIC
Okay...
uh-huh...
Helloo...mm.
Huh... Haaaaah,
nah-uh.
Hmmmmmm, yeah, yeah. Okay. Here.
HAROLD
This one? Her?
MECHANIC
That's that one. That
is an After Woman.
HAROLD
She doesn't look any different from the other one!
MECHANIC
Oh-ho, yes she does.
(And he is back to work, his confidence utterly
smug and utterly irritating.)
HAROLD
I mean, I think it's even the same model.
MECHANIC
Nope. Different.
HAROLD
Go on.
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MECHANIC
Different, different, different all to-gather.
Ah, come on Harold, you're makin it too complicated, you're gonna miss the forest for the
trees here, bub. You can't just look for one thing,
You gotta stop searchin so you can just see.
(And he is putting the final piece into place.)
You just
pay attention.
(He holds up the newly rebuilt carb.)
Voila. Just call me Da Vinci of da vehicle.
(HAROLD spots something small on the stage; he
bends and carefully picks it up; it is a tiny spring or
similarly delicate piece. He looks up at the
MECHANIC and holds the piece out to him. The
MECHANIC looks at the piece, looks at the carb
he thought was finished, back at the piece, and
finally, at HAROLD. Beat, then a shrug.)
Shit.
(BLACKOUT.)
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THE MAN IN LOVE
(LIGHTS UP on the suggestion of a pleasant area
outdoors; perhaps a bench, or a picnic table; it is a
nice day.
HAROLD shuffles onstage, his spirits low. He
spots some "birds" and reaches into his pockets for
some crumbs he has brought for just such an
occasion but it is clear from his actions that the
"birds" are not interested, and leave the area.
HAROLD slumps; count five in deep depression.
ENTER MAN IN LOVE and THE WOMAN;
they hold hands and are clearly basking in the
warmth of their relationship. THE WOMAN,
however, is running late, and so they embrace,
sharing a deep and lingering kiss. THE WOMAN
exits, the MAN watching her go long after she has
left our sight; he is utterly enraptured.
After she has slipped from his view, he faces out,
letting the wind touch his face and breathing it in;
he gives a deep and satisfied sigh of contentment
following which
HAROLD gives a deep and groaning sigh of
despair, which causes the MAN—who clearly
thought he was alone—to turn in surprise. During a
count of perhaps six, the MAN quickly sizes things
up, and decides to spread the wealth of his good
feeling. He decides on a direct course of action.)
MAN
Hi there.
HAROLD
Hi.
(Pause.)
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MAN
I, uh, I don't want to seem forward or anything, but are you okay?
HAROLD
Huh?
Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.
MAN
Oh.
(Beat)
Okay.
(Beat)
You're sure?
HAROLD
Do I look that bad?
MAN
Well…
You don't look that good.
No offense.
(Beat)
Can I ask you something?
HAROLD
Look buddy, take a walk, awright?
MAN
I'm sorry?
HAROLD
I'm not interested in any religion or other organized belief system, okay,
so just keep walking.
MAN
No, I-
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HAROLD
You guys, you come out here, you set up in the park and catch people heading home after
a long day when their defenses are down, I am not interested.
MAN
All I want to know is the nearest place to catch a D Local.
(Beat)
HAROLD
Oh… okay, sorry, um… geez, a "D",
I think you have to go east to Columbus
and then up two blocks. Or three.
MAN
East...
HAROLD
And up, yeah.
MAN
Okay. Thanks.
HAROLD
No problem.
(Beat)
MAN
Sure you're okay?
HAROLD
Yes.
MAN
Sorry, don't mean to push.
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HAROLD
Don't worry about it.
MAN
A man in love loves the whole world, that's my problem.
HAROLD
Well. It's a big job.
MAN
Not to me.
(Beat)
HAROLD
So you love her.
MAN
Who?
I'm kidding. Yes,
I am wildly, madly, passionately, utterly and completely in love with her. Yes.
HAROLD
Okay.
MAN
I don't mean to make a big deal of it.
HAROLD
No...
MAN
Of course, when you think about it,
it is a big deal.
HAROLD
I guess it is.
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MAN
To really and truly love another human being.
HAROLD
Yes.
MAN
It's what life's about!
HAROLD
I suppose it is.
MAN
I mean, when I imagine my life without Pamela, I— pff! Devastation! There's just
nothing,
I mean to have life and not have love—
I just couldn't.
HAROLD
Well. It's not the end of the world.
MAN
I suppose not.
But: having love is the start of a better world.
HAROLD
"Brave New Love."
MAN
Uhha! Ha-ha! That's funny!
HAROLD
Yeah.
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MAN
That's really funny! "Brave New Love"…..
HAROLD
Yeah.
MAN
It's funny.
HAROLD
It's all right.
MAN
See? Being in love everything makes you laugh.
She does that for me. She changed my life.
HAROLD
Did it need changing?
MAN
Oh, yeah. Yes sir. I mean,
I wasn't unhappy before I met her.
HAROLD
No.
MAN
It's not that I'm incapable of living on my own.
HAROLD
No.
MAN
I mean I like myself, don't worry.
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HAROLD
I won't.
MAN
But love! It's amazing.
HAROLD
Well, that's good then.
MAN
Good! Good! My friend, it's more than good, it's so far past good that I can't tell you,
good is the worst it could be,
at its lowest, it's merely good.
HAROLD
Well, good. I mean, terrific.
MAN
Last year, I would never have come up
and just started talking to you like this.
HAROLD
Oh, well...
MAN
I would've been too wrapped up in myself,
but I'm not like that anymore—love opens your eyes. And I saw you, and you looked like
you needed something. Do you know what you looked like you needed?
HAROLD
Oh,
lemme see if I can guess, would it be
love?
MAN
Are you saying that you don't?
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(Count three.)
HAROLD
No.
MAN
Love is a Process.
Love is an openness, a sharing of yourself,
it's a journey, a discovery.
HAROLD
Oh, piss off.
MAN
I beg your pardon?
HAROLD
Knock it off with the holier-than-thou,
more-loving-than-thou First Corinthians crap, all right?
You're in love, great, I'm thrilled for you,
but stop talking to me as though you know and I don't.
MAN
I didn't mean that.
HAROLD
Yes you did!
MAN
I just meant that love is an embracing, a welcoming!
Open your arms! Love whatever comes!
HAROLD
Yeah? What if nothing comes?
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MAN
Then love the nothingness! The space!
Love it for leaving room for still more love!
(He produces a thin pamphlet.)
I'd like you to read this. We can help.
HAROLD
We?
MAN
The Brothers and Sisters for the Human Process.
(A beat, and then HAROLD rises, and begins
inching away; the MAN follows; HAROLD'S
steps get larger, as do the MAN's, and quickly the
MAN is pursuing HAROLD offstage, calling out
to him. LIGHTS FADE.)
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THE FEAR
(LIGHTS UP to reveal HAROLD in his living
room; the same space seen in "The Rehearsal." It is
early evening; the work day is over, but there is still
plenty of light outside-pre-twilight. HAROLD sits
on his couch, staring out into space, fixed on a
single, unmoving point.
Count ten.
He pulls his eyes away from the point; this event
grows into a full-fledged shaking of the head, and
with something between a growl and a shout, he is
off the couch and pacing, putting distance between
himself and whatever went through his head just
then. The pacing grows with caged-animal fervor
and then freezes stone-still; another beat of staring,
then:)
HAROLD
No.
(He draws a deep breath, looks to the heavens and
then back down.)
Harold, this is not good, this is not good at all…
(His eyes land on the tape recorder. He goes to it
and punches the "record" button and addresses the
machine.)
Me again. Hello to the audience listening at home…
Um, yeah. This is me, Harold, continuing my experiment
in self-administered therapy.
(Beat)
Nothing to report.
(He punches the "stop" button. Beat.)
I don't need this, everything is fine, everything is normal,
tonight is a normal night just like any other normal night,
and I
will do normal things.
(He returns to the couch and picks up an issue of
"T.V. Guide" flipping through to find the proper
date and time.)
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HAROLD
Okay... news... news... local news... Movie!
"The Last Man on Earth. Science Fiction, nineteen-fifty-nine: A single man who lives
alone becomes increasingly certain that he is the last human being on the planet
and that the other people he encounters are actually aliens from another world."
(Pause. He crosses again to the tape recorder
and again punches "Record.")
Me again. New theory:
Am beginning to suspect that I am the victim of a cruel hoax
perpetrated by the publishers of earth television schedules. Must not let them get to me.
(He punches the "off" button)
Last man on earth. Hell, that'd be great, they'd all want me if I was their last shot.
Last Chance Texaco Gasoline and Emotional Service Center,
with our small but dedicated staff of professional service personnel.
"Back it on in here, little lady..."
(He crosses to "window" downstage and looks out
on street below.)
Look at all these people.
People, not aliens. People!
Normal, everyday people, with normal everyday habits,
habits only another normal everyday guy could distinguish.
That guy, down there,
is late for… something. Business dinner, something,
he's late, but he's trying to convince himself that he's not really all that late,
he can still blame it on traffic, nobody's gonna be on-the-button on time anyway,
but he is still a little bit late, and deep down he knows it
and that's why he's got that tight-ass little walk…
You better hurry buddy!
Who else, who else, normal people, how many humans
can you see in this picture, okay:
Okay…
We got two guys looking very sharp
boy are they impressed with themselves tonight and they are on their way
to spread the wealth.
They have a bounce in their step
because Hope Springs Eternal
or at least, until eleven o'clock or so…
After then, of course, it's a different story.
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HAROLD
continued
As my dear old dad used to say to me, "Son, if you're not in bed by eleven
go home and go to sleep."
(Beat)
Every day people. Just regular, everyday folks, with places to go and people to see...
(The lights suddenly dim and then strain back up…
dip again, and flicker; HAROLD looks around.)
No, no, no, don't do this again, come on now!
(The lights return to normal.)
Geez…
"Wanna go out tonight Harold?"
"Aw, gee, I'd love to,
but I gotta reset all my digital clocks,
my building is possessed..."
(A beat, and then he again returns to his tape
recorder and punches the button.)
Me again. Remind me to consider
where my super and/or maintenance committee
might plug into this whole conspiracy angle. Remember:
Humpty Dumpty was pushed.
(He hits the "stop" button once more and sprawls
back into the couch.)
Hoooo, boy...
(He closes his eyes and massages the bridge of his
nose.)
Nothing wrong with me
that a couple of hundred years' sleep won't fix.
(He sighs and his hand drops away. Because his
eyes are still closed, he does not notice the
repetition of the lights' flickering; when they return,
they feel somehow different.
HAROLD is now asleep, and dreaming. THE
WOMAN enters the room. She stands away from
him, waiting. He sighs once more and opens his
eyes. He sees her and stiffens, a small sound
escaping.
Pause.
She smiles.)
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HAROLD
Uh, can I help you?
(Her smile widens, and her head bobs gently with a
hint of a chuckle.)
What are you—
I mean, this is my apartment, what're you doing here, do I know you?
(She giggles; his confusion is clearly of enormous
fun for her.)
Look, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you
to leave. Whoever you are.
You're not supposed to be here, you got the wrong place.
(Her smile has drooped.)
What.
(Silence.)
How did you get in here, anyway?
Did you break in? Are you some kind of robber?
(Silence.)
Are you on drugs?
(Silence.)
Well, look, I don't want any trouble, okay? I don't have anything worth taking anyway.
(The smile has returned.)
What!
Who are you?
(She takes a small step toward him.)
Stay away!
(She laughs.)
Why don't you say something, can't you talk? Do you understand English?
Ah-blo see en-glay?
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WOMAN
You can tell by the pattern of ridges, and the size.
But we can hide it right here, underneath,
just swear you won't tell a soul.
HAROLD
What?
WOMAN
What did you do to yourself?
HAROLD
What the hell are you talking about?
WOMAN
Exactly, that's exactly what I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen to me,
you tell her!
HAROLD
Tell what to who, lady,
you're not making any sense, you got the wrong guy!
WOMAN
Are you kidding?!?
HAROLD
No, I'm not kidding, I swear, I don't know you!
WOMAN
Oh, my god, no way!
HAROLD
Yes!
WOMAN
I mean, okay, three, maybe four,
but not six, never in a million years, that's unbelievable!
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HAROLD
Look, lady, just get outta here, okay?
WOMAN
What do you know. California…
(She begins to undress.)
HAROLD
Hold on, hold on, no, no, don't do that…
(She continues undressing, slowly, for her captive
audience of one; first one shoe is off... then the
other, dangled seductively before being dropped.
She begins slowly rolling down her stockings,
placing one foot on the couch arm, then the other.)
Oh, no, look, you've gotta,
oh geez, stockings, the stockings are coming off, please lady, don't do this,
you can't do this, I don't even know you
aw, geez, that's,
there ya go, see, now, that's it, look what you're doing, you can't start up with all this
okay, okay, okay, no, no, okay? I won't look, okay, see, I'm not looking,
I'm not looking, lady!
(And he has indeed averted his eyes from the
spectacle, which has now progressed to a slow,
teasing unbuttoning of the blouse. HAROLD
rapidly risks looks her way, with each spoken line,
feeling the need to see her reaction… and also
unable to keep from looking, so that no matter what
he says or attempts, his point of attention remains
constant, and his efforts to disengage are utterly
hopeless.)
Nope, I don't see any of this,
you can just start puttin everything back on lady, cause I am not gonna watch,
THIS IS SILLY! THIS IS REALLY SILLY!
I've got a whole room over here to look at,
all sorts of things to distract me,
so you can just knock it off because there is no way that I am gonna oh my god
(…that particular moment of defeat coinciding with
a glance back at exactly the moment she pulls the
blouse away, revealing impossibly lacy finery
beneath. HAROLD cannot look away.)
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HAROLD
continued
Oh, boy. Oh, boy.
(She pauses, and smiles into his staring eyes.)
WOMAN
Harold.
HAROLD
That's me all right, this is my place, yep.
WOMAN
C'm'ere.
HAROLD
I, uhhh, I don't… Hm.
WOMAN
C'mon. Come here.
(Beat)
Gimme a hand.
(She turns to face out, smiling widely, reaching
behind her as though struggling to reach a
particularly difficult clasp or hook. HAROLD
summons his courage, and stands. He takes two
slow steps toward her.
(As he steps toward her, we can see her face shift…
from the wide smile, to a look of puzzlement, to a
look of shock and fear. She whirls on him.)
What are you doing!
(He freezes; he knew this was wrong... She gropes
down toward the floor for her blouse, covering
herself awkwardly, as she repeats:)
What are you doing in here!
(This question, combined with the sight of her
fumbling into her blouse, breaks his spell; he is
becoming angry.)
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HAROLD
What am I doing here, what the hell are you doing in here, that's that question!
(HAROLD only thought he was angry; the
WOMAN is suddenly rage personified.)
WOMAN
YOU WERE SPYING ON ME!
You were watching me undress, you were sitting there,
looking at me, you make me sick! That's all you wanna do is sneak around and try to see
some poor woman naked,
is that all you can think about,
is that all your sick little mind can handle is sneaking and spying and this, this, this
filthy attitude!
(She has been dressing herself once more, and now
pauses to pick up a shoe.)
HAROLD
Look, I wasn't doing any such thing, I was just in here-
WOMAN
(hurling shoe at him)
DON'T YOU DARE INTERRUPT ME!
(HAROLD has thrown himself back onto the
couch, dodging; the shoe misses, ending up wedged
in or under the couch.)
You wait til I'm finished, and then if I want
to hear any of that smart lip outta you I'll ask for it!
(And she is changing; her voice is aging, and she
seems to be dwindling somehow; contracting upon
herself, hunching into an ancient curvature... none
of which takes away from her vehemence.)
I guess that this is all the thanks I get,
I guess that this is all I can expect,
this snotty mouth and this filthy attitude, is this what I was looking forward to?
Is this the thanks that I can expect for the rest of my days, Mister dirty-minded big-mouth
nothing!
Well?
(Beat)
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HAROLD
Mom?
WOMAN
I guess there's nothing wrong with the way you live,
I guess that everything is just perfect for Mister know-it-all, Mister head-in- the-books,
you wanna know why you never got married I'll tell you
it was all them damn books!
HAROLD
But you can't be here, you're dead...
WOMAN
I'm dead?
HA! That's a laugh!
I had a life, I had a husband, had kids, I never had to spend all my time in books
and then spend my spare time spying on naked women! You're gonna sit there and tell me
I'm dead?
HA! LOSER!
HAROLD
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
(Pause.)
WOMAN
Well. It's your life.
HAROLD
That's right!
WOMAN
None of my business.
You're right and I'm wrong.
You don't need any help, you don't need any advice,
your mother has been around for a long time,
and she's been a woman for that whole time,
but I don't guess you need any help from your poor dumb mother.
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HAROLD
That's not what I said.
WOMAN
I'll just leave.
HAROLD
No, Mom, wait, I didn't mean it like that.
WOMAN
How'd I get here, anyway… No, never mind, I can find my way, that's fine, that's just
perfectly
all right…
(She is exiting...)
HAROLD
No, wait!
(…and she is gone.
Beat.
HAROLD collapses back into the couch with a
deep sigh of frustration and massages his closed
eyes once more. As his hand drops away, the lights
perhaps reprise the brief dip down and back.
HAROLD sits bolt upright.)
NO WAIT!
(He looks around, and realizes that he has been
dreaming. Count two.)
God…
(He sags into the couch once more; he feels
something which reminds him. He stiffens, and sits
up again. Slowly, and without looking, as though
feeling for a cobra, he reaches... and closes his hand
around the thrown shoe, bringing it slowly to where
he and we can see it.
Beat.
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He rises slowly, holding the shoe away from his
body, keeping an eye on it. His fear barely in check,
he inches toward his tape player; upon finding it, he
fumbles for the proper switches and knobs and
turns on music, turning it up to the point of
distortion. Still holding the shoe out, he exits the
apartment, fleeing the dreams as the music holds
them at bay.
LIGHTS FADE TO BLACK.)
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THE MYSTIC
(LIGHTS RISE TO DIM, It is deep, blue twilight,
the time at which daylight has capitulated and the
victory of shadow is clear. In the course of the
scene, the twilight shall give way to the darkness of
true night.
THE MYSTIC stands on a plot of grass, in a
remote corner of the university which employs
HAROLD. It is a quiet place at a quiet time, and
the chance of disturbance feels remote. He is
packing a final few items into several trunks, which
are decorated by an incredible collage of customs
stamps and labels, beneath and, in places, on top of
which is are equally dense collections of occult
symbols; it seems that there is no place or
dimension these trunks haven't been. The MYSTIC
packs with short, abrupt gestures, muttering under
his breath. He seems upset.
ENTER HAROLD, unseen by the MYSTIC. He
stands at some distance, regarding the strange
figure huddled over the stranger trunk—could this
possibly be a good idea? Is this even the right guy?
He looks again at the shoe still carefully held, and
decides.)
HAROLD
Um,
excuse me, sir?
MYSTIC
(Whirling.)
AAAHGODWHATNOW?
(Beat; he begins to see that he's not under attack,
and relaxes into mere anger)
HAROLD
May I talk to you for a second?
MYSTIC
Son: Don't sneak up on a veteran.
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HAROLD
I'm sorry.
MYSTIC
What're you creeping around for?
HAROLD
I'm not creeping. I'm looking for someone.
For you, actually.
MYSTIC
Do I owe you money?
HAROLD
Um…no.
MYSTIC
Do you owe me money?
HAROLD
I'm afraid I don't.
MYSTIC
Well then. If you wouldn't mind too terribly-- beat it.
HAROLD
Why?
MYSTIC
You're with the University, right?
HAROLD
Uh, yes...
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MYSTIC
Do you see me, that I'm packing? Do you see the many boxes, fastened securely?
Do you see that I have neatly rolled my extension cords,
that I have put away my little cassette player,
I am leaving, you have won, trust the evidence of your eyes, and stop hassling me!
HAROLD
Wait! No, I'm not-- I'm a chemist.
MYSTIC
Is that right, a chemist, what good is that to me, why aren't you an alchemist?
HAROLD
I don't-- I wanted to work with hydrocarbons.
MYSTIC
And yet somehow you have avoided marriage….
HAROLD
Well, it's not-- hey. You knew that, how did youMYSTIC
Call yourself a scientist?
(ticking off the evidence on his fingers.)
You got no ring. You're alone on a college campus at night.
And the capper of them all is that you clearly came here looking for me,
and married people do not come to see people like me,
married people go to see counselors
and then they go see private investigators and then, last, they go see lawyers.
HAROLD
Okay, you're right, I'm not married, or even involved, or anything,
and well, I was… I came looking for you, because, I was kind of thinking that…
MYSTIC
I don't swing that way son.
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HAROLD
Wha-- no! No, I came to see you, to see-- you know. I thought I would,
what, I would… retain you.
MYSTIC
Retain me? Oh my!
HAROLD
Well what do you call it, hire you, consult you!
MYSTIC
Well I'm afraid I'm not permitted
to conduct any further sort of business on these premises,
it has been made very clear to me,
and methinks I hear the clunking of the jackboot, ascending the stair,
and so it is that I must leave your pleasant little campus, good evening, sir.
(begins to move away.)
HAROLD
Don't go!
(His vehemence surprises both men; THE
MYSTIC whirls to face him and HAROLD takes a
step back.)
MYSTIC
Why not?
HAROLD
I think... that I might need you.
I think maybe that you can help me.
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MYSTIC
Oh, you do need me, because I definitely could help you.
I've helped bigger people with bigger problems.
Charlemagne. Scheherazade. Sinatra. You name it.
Your little misunderstandings
regarding your relationship with the fair sex are, please trust me,
not all that complex
But! Your employer, these ivory towers of learning,
are apparently threatened by my presence, and so I must depart
(flipping a sign around on his trunk around, and the
other side does indeed say "Closed.")
Shop's closed.
HAROLD
(blocking his way:)
But what am I supposed to do!
MYSTIC
Look. Son. I'm tired. I'm too old for all this.
And anyway, I'm starting to think maybe I'm not the right guy for this job.
HAROLD
But what about that stuff you just said, all the people you've helped,
and me, you knew I wasn't married, you knew I was here to see you about, you know,
my problems with women, don't you think-MYSTIC
Oh, please, why else would you be here? If a man comes to see me, it's about women.
Or a woman. Women come about men. I have years of experience,
I have clear sight on all nine planes of existence,
I commune with the spirits of plants, animals, people, minor demons and demigods,
and at the end of the day, people still don’t want anything more than Dear Abby.
I could make you rich! I could make you wise!
I could give you secret knowledge of the future, and of the past!
But no. All you want is for me to tell you how to score with chicks.
It's all you guys ever want.
HAROLD
Aha!
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MYSTIC
Aha what?
HAROLD
Aha, that's not what I want!
MYSTIC
Really.
HAROLD
I guess you're not as wise as you think!
MYSTIC
You're right. I'm not the guy for you.
HAROLD
No wait! I mean-- all I'm saying is, I'm not trying to "score."
I'm just…. trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong.
MYSTIC
Let me see your palms.
HAROLD
Both of them?
MYSTIC
Yes. Do you know that it is generally accepted
first of all, what is your dominant hand, the right, yes?
HAROLD
Yes.
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MYSTIC
Yes. It is generally accepted that the lines of the non-dominant hand-in your case, the left hand-show the tendencies and traits you were born with.
The dominant, or for you, the right hand,
shows what you've achieved with these potentials.
Now… this, is… Um. This is good!
(he is laughing, genuinely pleased)
Look how many scars you have on your left hand. Here, on the palm,
and here, too, on your finger.
HAROLD
Yeah, I was whittling something, I think, and-MYSTIC
It doesn't matter! What matters is what it all means, taken together,
and what it means is a force of will
which can actually alter what the fates intended at birth.
Your right hand shows long lines of achievement,
and you left shows scars which say that you will not be bound by fate,
that you can alter it and change it as you see fit.
It is a story of great power.
HAROLD
Great Power?
I don't think it tells a story of great power.
I think it tells the story of a man who is right handed.
Who, when he's holding a knife, holds it in his right hand
and holds the thing he's cutting with his left hand,
so which hand is it that you think catches the most hell?!
My left hand isn't scarred because I can alter fate.
It's scarred because it's always stuck there right in the way
whenever my right hand screws something up!
MYSTIC
And that, Harold, is what you're doing wrong..
HAROLD
What are you talking about?
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MYSTIC
You said you wanted to know what you were doing wrong in your relationships.
And you just did it.
HAROLD
What'd I do?
MYSTIC
Look--I told you a story. A story in which you are the hero. It's what I do
I pretend to find the story in the lines of your hand, okay,
but all I'm ever trying to give anyone
is a great story with themselves as the hero.
Now:
I gave you exactly that story, and I even found a way to work in the scars,
that's quality work, my friend, and done impromptu.
But you don't want it.
You don't wanna be a hero.
What you said to me just now, "My right hand carves so my left hand suffers,"
Technically correct, yes-- but so what?
You had a story in which you were the hero,
but you tore it down in exchange for being right.
Which feels better, being right, or being a hero?
When you're able to tell a story just because it's happy, even if it's wrong-then you'll be a hero.
And on that day, women will wonder "How did this guy find out so much about us?"
HAROLD
Waitasec, what-- When I'm able to tell a happy story?
MYSTIC
Yes. When making someone happy matters more than being right.
HAROLD
That sounds like a load of crap!
MYSTIC
I'm sure you're right.
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HAROLD
I am right!
MYSTIC
Well, I know how important that is to you…..
HAROLD
Now wait a goddamn minute..
MYSTIC
I have to go.
HAROLD
I need to talk to my Dad!
(Beat.)
MYSTIC
And… you're not asking me for change to use the pay phone, am I right about that?
HAROLD
He's dead. He's been dead since I was eleven.
MYSTIC
Lemme just say, if I was a shrink,
I could milk this for at least six, seven grand….
HAROLD
Yeah, well I've been to a shrink.
MYSTIC
See? Always the science, always the technology, enlightenment,
only when all of that crap fails do you come to me, the shrink didn't help, am I right?
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HAROLD
Not much. Not enough.
And neither did the friends, or the strangers,
the grease monkey, the self-help tapes, nothing helped.
MYSTIC
And I am, as always, the last resort.
HAROLD
Yes. You are the last resort, and if you can help me,
then I'll know you should have been the first resort,
and I'll send all my friends to you as soon as I have any who deserve it
and I'll, I'll, I'll talk to someone, I'll talk to the dean,
and he can talk to the chancellor and maybe you could stay on
we can get you some sort of waiver, special permission, we could-MYSTIC
Harold!
HAROLD
What.
MYSTIC
You're begging.
HAROLD
I know.
MYSTIC
It's unattractive.
HAROLD
Okay.
MYSTIC
I would like to help you.
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HAROLD
You would??
MYSTIC
But I promised your employers that I would stop doing business on their campus.
So I can't take your money.
HAROLD
Oh.
MYSTIC
But I have to get something.
HAROLD
Well, yeah, I mean, fair is fair, I think that we, okay, if you-MYSTIC
It's nothing to do with fair is fair, it's just the way these things work.
There are certain…. things…. which you don't invite to come closer
without offering something up front.
And frankly, money would be one of the more insulting things we could offer.
HAROLD
Well then what should-MYSTIC
What's with the shoe?
HAROLD
Huh? Oh.
Um, I don't really know, exactly.
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MYSTIC
Can I see it?
(He hands it over. THE MYSTIC studies it.)
What was it
that you're hoping for?
HAROLD
I dunno.
(Beat)
A miracle.
MYSTIC
(the honesty of this answer helping him to make up
his mind.)
Good. Good for you.
Okay.
HAROLD
Okay?? You-- you'll do it, you can put me in touch with my father?
MYSTIC
Not so fast. I'll do my best to do something, I dunno about that.
What makes you think he has any answers for you anyway?
HAROLD
I don't know. It seemed… I saw my mother. Sort of. I think.
And anyway, she wasn't able to do anything for me. And you know, I thought….
MYSTIC
You dad leaving you at that tender age, leaving boyhood, not yet a man,
right on the cusp, you think maybe he had some wisdom he would have imparted
if only he'd had the time?
HAROLD
You make it sound pretty stupid.
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MYSTIC
I'm sorry. Truly. I don't mean to do that.
(Beat)
But it is a little stupid.
HAROLD
I am open to other ideas!
MYSTIC
Yes. Okay. Fair enough. But seriously, leave the dead alone.
The stuff they know, we wouldn't know what to do with it even if they explained it,
which they never do.
And the stuff that has to do with still being alive, they find all of that incredibly boring.
Hell, I find it pretty goddamn boring myself.
HAROLD
Fine. We won't talk to the dead, what else can you do?
MYSTIC
I could channel an oracle.
HAROLD
An oracle?
MYSTIC
Yeah, sure! It's kind of like the old magic eight ball, except it's alive. Kind of.
It'll talk to you. It'll use my voice, but it'll talk to you.
And it'll answer one question.
Only one, you gotta be careful, they're very technical about that stuff.
So howabout it, does that sound okay with you?
HAROLD
I guess. Yeah. Sure. If you think so.
MYSTIC
I do.
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HAROLD
Okay.
(beat.)
Sure did get dark in a hurry…
MYSTIC
Yes, good point, we'll need light so it can find me...
(He opens his trunk and rummages)
Here.
HAROLD
What is it?
MYSTIC
Candles. Like for a birthday cake. Now, lighter...
HAROLD
What are you gonna do, just stick em in the ground?
MYSTIC
I suppose that I'll… wait.
(He reaches within the trunk and produces a
package in crinkly cellophane. )
Here.
HAROLD
What's that?
MYSTIC
Ho-Ho's.
(Beat)
Well.
Part of the offering should be food anyway.
Oh, come on. It's gotta be years since they were offered anything by anybody
they'd probably kill for a Ho-Ho.
Okay. Now. Kneel here, right next to me.
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(HAROLD does. The MYSTIC lets the lighter's
flame die. HAROLD adopts a ghostly tone:)
HAROLD
Whooooooo...
MYSTIC
Shhh!
HAROLD
Sorry.
MYSTIC
Okay. Give me a second.
(Pause. THE MYSTIC lights the lighter again and
begins a speech of invocation)
We call upon thee,
those who listen through all eternity. We call upon thee, asking forgiveness;
Forgive our silence. Forgive us who have not called to you Lo, these many years.
Forgive us our pride,
and forgive our humble offering.
(He now places one cupcake in each of
HAROLD'S hands, positioning them to offer
heavenward. He lights the candles he has placed in
each of them. The effect, while initially silly,
eventually takes on the appearance of all
candlelight—flickering, uncertain and eerie. The
MYSTIC kneels next to HAROLD.
Count three, then)
Look down upon this poor spirit!
Feel his longing!
Feel his yearning!
Feel his Hope!
HEAR MY PLEA!
(HAROLD starts a bit at this, but the MYSTIC
does not notice; the work is absorbing.)
HEAR ME
AND IMBUE ME!
(Count five in silence… then, THE MYSTIC gives
a tremendous cry of what might be pain, or shock…
or wonder.)
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HAROLD
Hey…
MYSTIC
How's it goin.
HAROLD
Um-- what do you-MYSTIC
You called me up, right, I mean, you asked this guy to do it. I'm here.
I'm ready to, you know. To oraculate.
HAROLD
You? You're-- I mean, this is it, this is you, now?
MYSTIC
Sure. Is one of those for me?
(takes a Ho-Ho)
You get one question, only one, the guy explained it, right?
HAROLD
You don't sound any different!
MYSTIC
I'm using this guy's voice, his lungs, his throat, you think I'm not gonna sound like him?
HAROLD
Yeah, that, or, you could be the laziest con man of all time.
MYSTIC
Yeah, well, whatever. You called me, remember? I finish this,
this, this, this black sugar bomb or whatever it is,
I finish it, I'm gone.
(takes an enormous bite.)
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HAROLD
Okay! I only get one question?
(beat)
Wait, wait, that wasn't it!
MYSTIC
One question, and you must ask it
before the cake-thing has disappeared….
(Beat)
I'm real, by the way. I talked to your dad before I came down, he said you're a good kid.
HAROLD
You did not!
MYSTIC
He used to call you Harry Houdini.
HAROLD
Oh my god.
MYSTIC
Because you could get out of anything.
Talk your way out of anything, explain your way out of any jam.
Trouble is, anybody can get out of things.
As I understand it, you're looking to get into something.
And because you seem like a nice guy, I'm gonna give you
one
more
Ho-Ho of my time…..
HAROLD
One question,
geez,
one question, to answer everything,
I mean,
that's a lot to hang (on one single hook, it--)
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MYSTIC
I'm gonna be gone in about one more bite, plus the chewing and swallowing….
HAROLD
Okay, Okay!
(Pause... an expectant breath, held, then:)
Is there something wrong
with me?
(THE MYSTIC rolls his eyes. A longsuffering sigh, then:)
MYSTIC
That is not your question.
HAROLD
No, it is.
MYSTIC
It isn't.
HAROLD
Whaddaya mean?! "Is there something wrong with me and if so, what?" yes,
that's my question!
MYSTIC
You already know the answer to that.
(quick beat.)
Try again.
HAROLD
Okay...
(count three, thinking:)
Do I have anything, anything at all, to offer to women,
anything they'd be interested in,
anything they'd want, anything they'd need?
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(THE MYSTIC is shaking his head slowly, a man
trying not to lose his temper:)
HAROLD
What's that, what's the head shake, that's a No?
Why, how come, it's still not the right question,
what?
MYSTIC
You're being too personal. Ask about LIFE, not just your life,
how many oracles do you talk to in your life time, a guy like you, come on,
think BIG!
HAROLD
Big! Big! Okay! What's Big!
Thinking big, thinking very large thoughts down here,
help me out!
MYSTIC
Find the common thread! The single big thing
on which all your questions are based!
(HAROLD is now frantically up and
pacing; the following has a feeling one of
those game shows in which a contestant has
to beat a timer.)
HAROLD
The common denominator, the one thing, okay,
Sex, it might come down to sex, passion, animal engagement,
but no, it's not really sex, not exclusively, okay sex is OUT, is it NEED, need, need, need,
do people need each other, of course they do, stupid question, not need, need is OUT,
so that leaves, well, geez, that leaves Love, no, no way,
can't be about Love, who the hell even knows what love is, too weird, love is OUT,
not sex, not need, not love....
MYSTIC
I am now licking my fingers and swallowing…..
(HAROLD becomes very still, calm, and sure:)
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HAROLD
Yes!
Okay. Here: Can men and women ever
just
talk to each other.
Really talk.
Say
what they need to say
and hear
what's being said.
Can men and women ever just talk to each other!
(Pause, the MYSTIC faces the heavens, and a slow
smile creeps across his face.)
MYSTIC
Yes.
(With which the MYSTIC leans in to HAROLD
and kisses his on the forehead.)
Yes.
(THE MYSTIC then leans and blows out the
candles, plunging the stage into abrupt darkness.)
HAROLD
Hey!
(He fumbles, muttering, for his lighter, and lights
it.)
Hey?
(The MYSTIC and the trunk have vanished;
there is no evidence that anyone or anything
was every there.)
Hey! Come on now!
(Silence.)
That's all? "Yes"?
(Silence.)
Geez...
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(He becomes aware of a strange smell and a
burning sensation... both of which seem to be
coming from his thumb, which has been bravely
keeping the lighter ignited all this time. Flooded
with latent pain, he flings the lighter to the ground.
In pain, and in darkness, around his mouthful, he
exclaims:)
HAROLD
continued
AahhhGOD!
(Beat.
He giggles…And we hear him turn and exit,
making his way slowly and carefully, mumbling his
newfound mantra, playing with it:)
Yes... yes... yes?... YES!... Yes... yes....
(END OF SCENE.)
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THE PICK UP
(Once again, we are in a bar/lounge. On one side of
the stage sits HAROLD, alone, nursing a drink. At
the other side sits THE WOMAN, also alone, also
nursing a drink.
HAROLD cannot help but look longingly at her...
but someone else has decided to move in.
ENTER the HUSTLER; he is sportily dressed,
reasonably attractive, and thinks a great deal of
himself and of his technique, which HAROLD
observes scrupulously during the following.)
HUSTLER
Hi.
WOMAN
Hi.
HUSTLER
Buy you a drink?
WOMAN
I have one, thanks.
HUSTLER
I'm Deron.
WOMAN
Hello.
HUSTLER
And you're...?
(She looks around; there are no other prospects and
so she resigns herself:)
WOMAN
I'm Deirdre.
HUSTLER
Deirdre. We're both "D" people
.
WOMAN
Must be fate.
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HUSTLER
Could be.
Are you sure that Deron can't buy Deirdre a Daiquiri?
WOMAN
I'm fine.
HUSTLER
Oh, you're more than fine.
(Beat)
I'm sorry, that just slipped out.
WOMAN
That's okay.
HUSTLER
I just hate these places. You know?
WOMAN
Yeah.
HUSTLER
I mean, strangers, walking around, saying things to each other.
WOMAN
Yeah.
HUSTLER
It makes you so…self-ware. You run out of small talk. You know?
WOMAN
I know.
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HUSTLER
But what are you gonna do?
Stay home, stare at the cable, listen to the radio,
walk around your apartment?
So, if you want to meet someone,
someone interesting, I mean,
you have no choice but to end up in a place like this
and hope that at some point you can get past
all the introductions and small talk
and get into some honest, one-on-one stuff.
WOMAN
Stuff?
HUSTLER
Hey, it could be anything.
Conversation. Debate. Exchange of ideas.
Exchange of phone numbers?
WOMAN
I don't have a phone.
HUSTLER
Then how do people call you?
WOMAN
They don't.
HUSTLER
Ha! You're a funny lady. Do people tell you that, Deirdre?
WOMAN
Sometimes.
HUSTLER
Sometimes?
WOMAN
When I'm funny.
(Pause.)
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HUSTLER
You'd rather I left you alone, wouldn't you.
WOMAN
Actually, I'm the one that should be leaving.
HUSTLER
Can I give you a ride?
WOMAN
No thank you.
HUSTLER
Call you a cab?
WOMAN
No thanks.
HUSTLER
Walk you.
WOMAN
No. Really. Thank you.
HUSTLER
Well. Okay. See you around.
(He exits; she sighs, and begins counting her
change for a tip.
HAROLD approaches shyly; stands, summoning
his nerve and looks up, repeating his new advice:)
HAROLD
Yes... yes...
(She hears this, and turns, ready.)
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WOMAN
Yes?
HAROLD
Um...
WOMAN
I'm not interested.
HAROLD
No, I just want to ask you a question.
WOMAN
I'm sorry.
HAROLD
No, really. I'm not here to pick anyone up,
I'm not going to ask you for your phone number, or anything, I just...
there's something that you could tell me that might… help me.
WOMAN
What is it.
HAROLD
That guy was trying to pick you up, right?
WOMAN
Is that your question?
HAROLD
No, I'm just making sure of my facts first. Was he?
WOMAN
That would be my guess, yes.
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HAROLD
Okay. When did you know that about him?
WOMAN
I knew it the minute I saw him.
HAROLD
That's what I thought. Thank you.
(he begins moving away.)
WOMAN
That's it?
HAROLD
I just wanted to check that.
WOMAN
That was the whole thing?
HAROLD
Well, actually, it leaves me with another question, but I promised. Just one. Fair's fair.
WOMAN
Wait. Go ahead, what's your next question.
HAROLD
You might not like it.
WOMAN
Is it a pick-up line?
HAROLD
No.
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WOMAN
Then go ahead.
HAROLD
Well... If you knew what he was doing, and you knew it right away,
why didn't you cut it off a lot sooner? Why do you listen?
WOMAN
Because that's what happens here. This is a pick-up joint.
You know, before you ever set foot inside,
that there will be guys here.
Guys who wear sunglasses, indoors, at night.
Guys with tans in February. Guys who ask you your name, your sign.
Guys who ask you if they went to high school with you.
Guys who pretend to think that you might know
the name of some other girl at the other end of the bar
that they're not really interested in but they tell you they are so that then they can ask you
what you think they should do. Strategies. Plans. That's what happens here.
HAROLD
Then can I ask one more question?
WOMAN
You don't have to.
HAROLD
(misunderstanding:)
Okay.
(He begins moving away.)
WOMAN
No!
(He stops.)
I meant that I know what the question is, and the answer is
"Where else am I going to go?"
HAROLD
But why would you want to sit through all those things?
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WOMAN
I don't want to sit through them, but what are my options,
they're the only things that guys know how to say!
So you listen, and you say the right things back, but inside, you're really asking yourself,
"Okay, so this is bullshit,
but underneath the bullshit is there a real guy here, or is there just more bullshit?"
HAROLD
Oh.
WOMAN
I say "what are my options" but there are plenty, I know that.
I could just give up on the whole business, move on, grow up.
There's more to being a woman than just waiting for the right guy to show up,
there's a whole world of things out there to see and do.
Sometimes I get so sick of this,
I just want to move away and never see another strange face again,
never have to make another snap decision.
Human relations have to be more than just guessing and hoping and interpreting
and, and… settling.
There has to be more that's, that's, available to us,
than just that. There has to be.
HAROLD
Like what?
(Pause.)
WOMAN
You don't know anything about any of this. Do you.
HAROLD
No.
(Pause.)
But you could teach me.
(He extends his hand; she looks at it, and smiles, a
dazzling bright smile. She takes his hand. FADE
TO BLACK.)
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THE SUCCESS
(LIGHTS UP TO DIM to find exactly what we
found at the top of the opening scene: HAROLD
and THE WOMAN sitting up in a large bed. There
is distance between them.
Each stares straight out into the darkness; they do
not look at each other until so indicated.
Count ten.)
HAROLD
Look.
I wish that—
I dunno, I wish that I knew what to say,
I wish I knew what it was that I was supposed to—
(THE WOMAN raises a hand between his voice
and her ear; he stops speaking.
Count two.)
THE WOMAN
Please.
(She lowers her hand slowly, as if ready to raise it
again at the slightest provocation. Count two.
Then:)
You
don't know anything about women.
Do you.
Then, HAROLD allows a tiny snort of suppressed
laughter to escape; he covers his mouth and
struggles to pretend nothing happened. This
succeeds in drawing the gaze of the WOMAN,
whose head turns with the same precision as in the
opening. HAROLD feels her eyes upon him; he
risks a quick glance to confirm it, but resumes
staring out. She studies him. Again, a snort of
laughter from HAROLD, larger this time; he is
losing the battle for composure. Another giggle
escapes; he looks to her and shrugs in apology, but
even the sight of her curious stare seems funny, and
his laughter slowly grows. He tries to turn away for
a last ditch effort at control, but the freedom from
her eyes seems to liberate still more laughter, and
he surrenders to it.)
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HAROLD
Oh, God!
(And he continues laughing, a full, rich sound.
Perplexed, THE WOMAN finds she's giggling
herself at this irrational, thoroughly contagious
happiness. HAROLD meets her eyes and shrugs
again and now she, too, is laughing outright. The
laughter meets, shakes hands, and intertwines; they
collapse into each other in helpless, healing gales of
laughter. FADE TO BLACK.)
END OF PLAY